Winter Pleasures

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Author: Bast Anya

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WINTER PLEASURES

An Ellora’s Cave publication written by

ANYA BAST

Warning: The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. WINTER PLEASURES has been rated NC17, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…

To James: Thank you for being my partner and my hero.

Chapter One

Sienne glanced up, then lowered her eyes as was proper, but in that moment she memorized the visage of the man who would be her temporary keeper. A long fall of onyx-in-shadow hair framed a face that was close to handsome, but not quite. His chin was strong and his features well crafted, his body muscular in the way of warriors. This was no weak-limbed nobility seated before her on the dais. That alone worried her. One of his huge hands could probably span her pelvis; break her neck with just a little extra pressure. She hoped he knew his own strength. Some of the large ones didn’t and would subject her to pain without realizing it…or realizing it. But it was not her place to complain. Never that . “My lord, the winters here in Nordan are long and without distraction. I have brought this tribute to you to entertain you and warm your bed over the long months ahead.” Cyrus pushed her forward into the circle of nobility and retainers that had grievances to air before Lord Marken’s court.

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Sienne glanced up. She could not determine the color of the gaze that rested on her, taking her in from her battered slippers to her thread-worn kirtle. Cyrus had dressed her in what he deemed finery, designed to display her “assets.” The gown was a peach-flesh color. A necklace of pale green stones, to match her eyes, hung around her throat, a crystal the size of her thumbnail rested in the hollow between her collarbones. The gown dipped low in the front to show the swell of her breasts and clung tight to her hips. The sheer fabric outlined of her breasts and dark areolas, and the patch of red hair between her legs when she moved just right. It was designed to tantalize—whet the appetite. She was Cyrus’s choicest morsel, trained for the last three years in the sexual arts. Her current keeper intended to gift her to this lord as a peace offering, from Cyrus’s country of Sudhra to Marken’s homeland of Nordan. It was a well-known fact that open sexuality abounded in Lord Marken’s court. Some said that here the nobles copulated freely, the lord took any woman in full view of others, and sexual games were rampant. Sienne could not believe such a thing possible. Sex was not a game. Sex was not a pleasurable thing to be engaged in at a whim. For a man, yes…but not a woman. A woman never enjoyed the act. It was a simple unpleasant fact. “Lord Cyrus of Sudhra, I acknowledge the generosity of your gift,” came Lord Marken’s deep, reverberating voice. Sienne shivered. It was like heated chocolate on a cold winter’s day. It was nearly sin the voice that came from his throat. But no matter how nice his voice, he’d be a cruel keeper. They all were. Out of the corner of her eye, Sienne saw Cyrus bow deeply, likely inordinately proud of the praise from one of the most powerful lords of Nordan. “She is educated and speaks your tongue, my lord.” Marken raised a dark brow, his eyes sweeping over her with renewed interest. Sienne looked away out of respect. “Look at me,” Marken commanded. Confused, Sienne kept her eyes averted. “Look at me,” he repeated. Cyrus gave her push on the shoulder. “Your new lord and keeper has given you an order. Obey it.” But it was such a strange one! Never did her keepers wish to look into her eyes. She raised her head. “Yes, my lord.” “What is your name?” Her eyes widened. “My lord wishes to know my name?” she asked in halting Nordanese. “You do have one, do you not?”

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She averted her eyes. “Yes, my lord, my parents gifted me with the name Sienne.” “Sienne.” He rolled her name around in his mouth like it was a choice sugared raisin. “I am pleased. Cyrus, she is a true beauty with those light green eyes and that dark red hair. I see the rest of my court is also pleased to have such a fine woman join us for the cold season.” Sienne glanced around. Many of the men had their eyes on her, their gazes heated and intent. She knew all too well a look of desire. Apparently, she’d quickly become an object of fascination to the Nordan noblemen. Cyrus would be pleased. “Bring her to my chamber, Cyrus. Talyn, the captain of my guard, will lead you. Leave her there alone.” A tall, muscular man who Sienne surmised was Talyn stepped from the crush of nobles lining Marken’s court. His long dark brown hair was caught in a thin leather thong at the nape of his neck. His chocolate colored hair framed a well-made face with vibrant green eyes and full lips. “I shall return for her in the spring when the passes melt clear of snow,” replied Cyrus. Marken waved a hand. “Come back then and we shall share a glass of spiced wine and discuss trade opportunities between our peoples.” Cyrus bowed. “Yes, my lord.” Talyn led them from the court into a corridor with stone walls and a cobblestone floor. Thick naarbranch rushes crunched under Sienne’s feet and sent up a scent of spice. Wordlessly, the warrior Talyn led them up a flight of stairs and down another candlelit corridor. Unsmiling, Talyn halted in front of an ornately carved door, flicked a glance at Sienne that spoke of pity mixed with a touch of lust and left them there. Cyrus pushed the door open and pulled her into the room. A huge see-through fireplace dominated the center of the chamber, driving out the chill so prevalent in the castle. An enormous bed stood across from the fireplace, heaped with soft blankets and pillows. Tapestries depicting spring-tide hunts covered the walls. A table stood to the left of the bed, scattered with papers and books. Sienne considered the books and wondered if her new keeper was a learned man. She’d been fostered in a scholar’s family and they’d taught her much of philosophy, art, and languages. Her skill in Nordanese was rare in a slave and one of the reasons Cyrus had selected her for this errand. Cyrus yanked her hard toward the four-poster bed and tied her to one of the posts. He slipped his hands to the neckline of her gown and pulled it down, so that the very top of her breasts showed and the fabric lay right above the nipple. He brushed his thumb over one, causing her to flinch, and then brought his hand to her chin, tipping it up. His brown eyes narrowed and his dirty blond hair fell into his eyes. “Get what I need from him, Sienne. If you don’t, the price will be your life. And in case you don’t care about that, know I’ll hold your foster family accountable for your ineptitude. Believe me, I’ll make them hurt before they die.” She winced and looked away. Her foster family had been as kind to her as possible under Cyrus’s constant threat. She had no wish to see them harmed. Cyrus had placed her here to get as much information as she could from Lord Marken, about Nordan

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politics, military positions…and weaknesses. It was amazing what a man would reveal to a woman when comfortable, warm, and sated with sex. Most men wanted to talk of their intelligent, strategic plans, of their conquests and political maneuverings. They didn’t think a woman would understand their ramblings. Talking to a woman of those things was safe, and they believed built them up in a woman’s eyes to God-like status. Sienne knew all of the correct things to say to encourage their bragging; just as she knew what to do to their bodies to keep them satisfied and wanting more. When she looked back Cyrus was striding to the door, his black cloak swirling around him and his boots clicking soundly against the polished stone floor. She shuddered and glanced around at the books that lined the shelves of the room. Her mind worked, trying to think of all manner of ways to get close to Lord Marken, to get him to confide in her, to believe she was safe. Every man in power needed someone safe. She’d learned that long ago. Footsteps of a different cadence than Cyrus’s sounded at the door and Sienne jumped. Lord Marken closed the heavy, gold inlaid door behind him. Sienne twisted in her bonds, her stomach tightening low in sudden fear. Although, something deep and dark within her always thrilled at the prospect of a new man to please with her skills. Even though she was a slave, she had power in some things, and she’d learned to exploit it. And this one was far from displeasing to the eye. His black hair reached the middle of his back. Eyes the color of the river in winter, a cool blue-green, peered from a well-sculpted face. His best feature by far was his lips. Full and sensual, they looked perfect for tracing with the tip of her tongue. Maybe she could get what she needed from this man if she proceeded carefully. Marken crossed the floor like one of the big jungle cats of Sudhra, taking in her appearance. She knew how she looked, her hair free over her shoulders, her gown clinging to her curves, her nipples, tight from the cold, showing through the sheer, flesh-colored fabric. He stopped in the center of the room, his gaze intent. His leather jerkin was open halfway down his chest, showing an expanse of smooth, sculpted muscle. His leggings fit tight over powerful looking thighs. She shivered in fear spiced with the slightest pinch of desire and looked away. “Look at me, Sienne. You are forever looking away.” Her gaze snapped to his. “Yes, my lord.” “You are not here of your own free will, are you?” She let out a laugh of derision. “My lord sees me secured thus and asks such a question?” She bit her tongue on the last word, not believing she’d had such impudence. She waited for a cuff, but only got a bemused smile. “Ah, so there is some fire left in you after all. They haven’t beaten it all out of you yet.” “Forgive me, my lord. I shall endeavor to be more submissive.”

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“Oh, now what fun would that be?” He walked near her, so close she could smell the heady mix of sandalwood and citrus, the soap he must bathe with. He drew his dagger and raised it. She closed her eyes and tensed, waiting for the bite of the blade into her flesh. Only the sound of fabric slicing met her ears. Her arms went lax—suddenly freed. “I do not abide slavery, Sienne. I know it is a practice in Sudhra, but not here in Nordan. I have no wish for a sex slave. I did not tell Lord Cyrus this because I had no wish to offend him and because it gave me an opportunity to set you free.” She looked up at him with what she knew was an expression of shock on her face. “My…my lord?” He picked up a pouch from a drawer near his bed. He threw it at her and she caught it. It clinked heavily with coin. He turned and motioned toward the door. “Go. You are free. If you hurry, you will beat the first snowfall. If you would like, I will send men to accompany you to the nearest town.” She stood, stunned…and free. For the first time since she was five years old, she was free . The pouch lay heavily in her palm. She looked toward the door and realized she didn’t have the slightest clue what to do! And besides that, Cyrus would track her down and punish her. He’d kill her and her foster family for not fulfilling the duty with which she’d been set. Cyrus’s reach extended to the ends of Aran. There was nowhere for her to go, no one she could trust. Her next question quavered in her throat for a moment before she could force into the open air. “But…what will you tell Cyrus, my lord, when he comes for me in the spring?” Marken shrugged. “Lord Cyrus is a greedy man. I will give him gold enough in recompense so that he will not think of you again.” She walked to a chair and sat down, turning her head so he could not see the sudden tears that pricked her eyes. She held the pouch loosely in her hands. He was actually willing to pay gold for her freedom. Her life meant something to him. She took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. It only made what she had to do that much more difficult. She had to fulfill her obligation to Cyrus or her foster family would suffer for it, but she could not reveal that information to Lord Marken. She turned toward him. “Does my lord know I have been trained these three years since my eighteenth birthday in all ways to please a man?” “The women who come to my bed, come of their own free will and I have plenty of partners. I do not need another.” His eyes flicked down her body and her nipples hardened in response. Sienne wondered at her reaction. Perhaps kindness was an aphrodisiac…or maybe she was simply cold. “No matter how comely she might be,” he finished. She lowered her eyes and looked up through her lashes. She knew well the different paths to seduction. Lord Marken was a protector. That was more than apparent. She could easily play the role of one

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needing protection. It was no guise, after all. “My training goes beyond that of the ordinary women who warms your bed, my lord.” “Are you trying to convince me to keep you? I just gave you enough money to begin a new life and set you free.” “If it pleases my lord, I shall go, but I have no location to which to travel.” She didn’t hide the genuine quaver of fear in her voice. He turned. “Do you not have family somewhere?” She shook her head and dropped her eyes. “They’ve all been killed by Cyrus and his thanes.” She looked up. “I am good at what I do, my lord. I can please you, make your body never wish to give me up.” “I’m sure you could. That is not in question—-” “I’ve known nothing but servitude since I was five years old, my lord,” she said quickly. “I don’t know what I would do out there alone.” She let tears shine in her eyes. Marken turned and paced the room, then whirled with anger drawing harsh lines on his face. “How can you not wish for freedom, Sienne?” Her lower lip trembled. She fell to her knees in front of him, making sure the gown dipped low enough that Marken had a view of her bare breasts, and averted her eyes in respect, looking at him sidelong. “Please, my lord. I…I would perish, surely.” Marken pushed a hand through his thick mane of ebony hair. “The chains are no longer around your wrists, but in your very mind. It is more difficult to loose those.” He dropped his gaze to her breasts and hips. “I’ve no doubt of your skills. But know if you stay, you stay of your own free will. You can leave whenever you choose it.” She left the pouch on the floor, scrambled to her feet and instantly dropped low into a curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.” “First thing, Sienne. Raise your eyes when you speak to me.” His voice dropped a notch and infused with heat. “You’ve lovely eyes. I would like to see them.” Hope sprung within her so fast and so hard it hurt. Maybe he did want her. It would make the task set before her so much easier if he did. She raised her eyes and took several steps in his direction. She wanted to prove her worth quickly, so he would not send her away. It was a bold move and she half-expected to be rebuffed, but he didn’t move as she walked toward him. She placed her hands on his powerful chest and slid them down, feeling her fingers glide over his nipples to the ties on his trews and beneath, his braies. With deft fingers she undid them. Marken stood, unmoving and allowing. She freed his already hard shaft and stroked the foreskin down. His was a beautiful phallus. Like everything about him, it was large—long and thick. It was one of the largest she’d ever seen, and she’d seen many in the last three years. The head was shaped like a plum and the length slightly bowed toward his stomach, promising delight to any woman who took him

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because he’d easily reach the pleasure point deep within. She went to her knees and licked around the head of his shaft, then took him into her mouth and sucked, letting the head of his cock slip past her tonsils and down her throat. Marken let free a groan and his hands tightened on her shoulders. Lips and tongue working, she feverishly tried to please him, to let him know how skillful she was and that it would be a mistake to let her go. She cupped and massaged his scrotum with one hand, while using the other to work the base of his shaft as she brought him in and out of her mouth with increasing speed, letting the head of his cock slide down her tight throat. She slipped him out of her mouth and ran her tongue just under the head of his cock, licking and sucking at the special place directly below it where she knew men were most sensitive. Then she drew him back into her mouth and down far into in throat once more. Marken’s body tensed, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her head. His hips moved forward as he thrust his cock into her mouth. Finally he released himself with a deep groan. She swallowed every last bit of his seed and fell back on her heels, looking up at him with trepidation in her eyes. “Was that satisfactory, my lord?” He remained silent, merely redoing his braies and trews. She waited, breathless. “Very. But did you enjoy that, Sienne?” “My lord?” “You’re very good at it, but do you enjoy it?” Such a question had never been put to her. Maybe it was a trick? “My lord, I live only to serve you in any carnal desire you wish fulfilled. I am trained in all manner….” He swept her off the floor and into his arms. She let out a surprised hiss of breath. He sat down and settled her onto his lap. “I desire a willing woman, Sienne. If you are to stay here under my protection, and you insist on serving me in this capacity, we are going to have to retrain you.” She blinked. “My lord?” He slipped a hand under the edge of her skirt, drawing it up to the apex of her legs. She obediently parted her legs for him, but tensed every muscle in her body. Working his way around her undergarment, he slipped two of his huge fingers into her. He worked them in and out of her, and she felt her pelvic muscles clamp down, pushing him out. It was an automatic response she could not stop. Marken withdrew his hand, brought his fingers to his mouth, and licked them. “Mmmm. You taste good, Sienne. But there should be more moisture here. You are not the least bit excited, are you?” “M…my lord….” Marken shook his head. “Don’t lie. Your body betrays you.”

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Sienne shifted uncomfortably on his lap, feeling the bulge between his legs where he’d risen for her again. “Please forgive me, my lord. I will try to do better. When can I expect a beating?” He took her chin between his fingers and cupped her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. “I will never beat you.” He trailed a finger down her throat to her heaving chest and lazily circled a nipple with an index finger. “I might pound you with my cock, but never with my fists.” His voice was silken rasp. Sienne could tell he wanted her. “Hopefully, you’d enjoy being pounded that way.” His words had a curious effect on her. She imagined him sliding his long, thick shaft into her woman’s passage and stroking in and out of her. She imagined how he’d fill her up and touch that place deep within where sometimes it almost felt good. Marken circled her nipple around and around relentlessly and gently pinched. Her nipple hardened in response. His voice lowered and he brought his face close to hers. “I intend to bring you to a place where you’re begging me to enter your passage, Sienne. Not out of a sense of servitude, but because you want me moving in and out of you, pleasuring you, bringing you to peak over and over.” “P…peak, my lord?” she asked, disconcerted by the tightening of her loins that was caused by his touch. The motion of his finger stopped for a moment, then resumed. “By the Goddess’s eyes…you really don’t know, do you?” She shook her head and he massaged her entire breast with his hand before returning to her nipple. “I’ll show you soon, Sienne.” He worked her nipple, running his finger over it, caressing every ridge, every valley of its distended tip. Her breath caught. “As you wish, my lord,” she rasped. What was wrong with her? She felt hot, flushed, and achy. Was she falling ill? “You’ve been trained to please a type of man who never cared about your pleasure. But you must understand, the pleasures of my partner feed mine and make love play sweeter. I know a way we might pass the long winter. I’ll use it to train you to pleasure.” Anything! Anything as long as she could stay here and fulfill her duty to Cyrus, ensuring her safety and that of her foster family’s. “Yes, my lord.” “Here is the most simple of lessons.” His hand twined around the back of her neck and drew her face to wed with his. His lips were soft on hers. He kissed her upper lip, then her lower. The tip of his tongue traced her lower lip slowly. It made things deep in her body pulse and come to life. A shiver ran up her spine. Then he kissed her harder, more demanding. He parted her lips with his tongue and slipped it within. It was nothing like the crude invasions she’d suffered before. His tongue met hers and asked to dance. Their lengths rubbed and teased as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. Sometimes he’d withdraw and fall back to kissing her lips individually before sliding his tongue back between her lips. He kissed her leisurely and at length, as though his mouth made love to hers. His free hand ever

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concentrated on her breast, rubbing it with the flat of his hand, teasing the tip with his fingers. She moaned deep in her throat. Moisture flooded her core. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “I believe I’m going to enjoy your training very much Sienne. It will be harder on me than you, I think. I already want to take you hard and fast. But you are not ready. We will begin our training in private on the morrow.”

Chapter Two

Sienne twisted between the silken sheets, and the fabric rubbed against her bare skin. The luxurious chamber she’d been given the previous night made her smile. A huge fire roared in the hearth not far from the four-poster bed in which she now lay. The scent of burning branches reached her nostrils. The warmth of the fire, combined with the heavy down coverlet on the bed, had chased away every last bit of chill from her bones and left her feeling languid, relaxed, and comfortable—things she hadn’t experienced but in the rarest moments of her life. She cherished them now. She rolled over and noticed that a servant had laid a feast on the table near the leaded-glass window. Thick chunks of salted meat and brown braided bread drizzled with honey met her surprised eyes. The sounds of the servant entering the room must have been what had awoken her. Someone cleared his throat. Sienne sat straight up, looking toward the source of the sound. Marken stood by the hearth, dressed in a fine black linen tunic and close-fitting black trews. His long fall of hair was secured at his nape with a leather thong. Her fingers itched to release it. “I thought to send a servant to bathe you, dress you, and bring you to my rooms, but then decided I would enjoy doing these tasks myself,” he said. Her mouth went dry and the blanket slid from her lax fingers to pool at her waist. His gaze flicked down and she blushed, drawing the covers up around herself once more. “Are you shy?” He laughed. “Many men have seen you unclothed, no?” She nodded, looking downward. “Y…yes, my lord.” Just none who had an effect on her like this man. He walked across the room and stood by her bed. “Pull the blankets from you,” he commanded softly. She did so, her flesh pebbling in the chill morning air. She was hideous, scarred. Cyrus had encouraged her to only show her body to Marken in the cover of darkness. Here it was clear daylight and she was thus exposed. She turned her face away, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He reached out and traced one thin white scar that ran down her thigh—made from a whip a year ago. His other hand clenched in a fist, undoubtedly angered that Cyrus had sent him such damaged goods.

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“I apologize for being so ugly, my lord,” she whispered, suddenly frightened he’d beat her for her marked flesh. “Sienne, you are beautiful. You wear these scars like you’ve fought a battle, and indeed, you have. It is only that it makes me angry you have been treated thus.” His gaze roved over her body. “Rest your head back against the pillows and spread your legs for me.” Sienne slid down against the silken pillows and sheets so she lay flat on her back and spread her legs as he’d ordered her. He took her in from head to toe. Sienne could almost feel his gaze gliding over her skin, rubbing her nipples and between her legs. It was cold in the room but his heated gaze warmed her flesh. “You are exquisite,” he said. “Cyrus was right to take pride in you. It is rare I see a woman with a patch of fire between her legs and such kissable breasts. You should never be afraid of displaying your body.” Flipping his hair over one shoulder, Marken leaned down and kissed her scars one by one, letting his tongue trail hotly down their lengths. Sienne shivered in pleasure as his tongue roved over her skin, leaving a tingling, near healing sensation in its wake. He reached down to pet her mound, running his fingers through the hair. Then he slipped his hand downward and rubbed his fingertips across her pussy and upward to some spot that made her gasp with sensitivity. Pleasure coursed through her so intensely it bowed her spine. She snapped her legs closed and then cowered, afraid he’d cuff her for denying him the touch of her. “Easy, Sienne. Know that I’m only commanding you to display yourself to me to make you ready for life in my court. You will find yourself unclothed here more often than not. You must grow at ease with displaying your body for many people at any given time.” It was true. Marken’s court was known for its easy nudity. Such things were a part of Nordanese culture. Children were notoriously difficult to get on a woman. Therefore sex often and with multiple partners was an encouraged thing. Normal, in fact. Such was not the case in Sudhra, although children were equally difficult to beget there. In Sudhra open sex practice was outside religious law, against the rule of the new God. Since sexual expression was thus repressed, the sex slave business was rampant. Women were considered inferior creatures in Sudhra, below the notice of the ruling priest class. Therefore men like Lord Cyrus, one of the most powerful lords of Sudhra and one of the most successful slave handlers, went unharassed. Marken tipped his head to the side and his tail of silky hair slid down his shoulder and arm. She wondered briefly how it’d feel loose and brushing over her bare skin. “Does my touch displease you?” he asked. She looked shocked, she knew, because the answer came easily and was the truth. It was probably the first time she’d answered that question without lying. “N…no, my lord. Not at all.” She blushed and looked away. “On the contrary.”

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“Hmmm…I think you lie. Otherwise, you would not have closed your legs. It is time I began accustoming you to my touch, I think.” He leaned over and scooped her up into his arms. She splayed one hand against his chest and wrapped the other around the back of his neck. He walked over and sat her down in the chair in front of the spread of food. “Eat,” he ordered. It was disconcerting. Here she was the servant, being served by none other than the lord of the castle himself. Sienne ducked her head and ate quickly, but savored every mouthful of the decadent food. She closed her eyes as the honeyed bread spread over her tongue and chewed thoroughly to extract all the hearty sweetness from it. Marken ordered servants to bring in steaming water and fill the bathing tub in her room, and then he sat down in the chair opposite her and picked up a bit of smoked meat. He dipped it in honey and held it to her lips. “My lord,” she objected, shocked. “You cannot feed me! You are a great lord and I am but a lowly—” “I enjoy this, Sienne.” His voice grew stern. “I command you to allow me to feed you. You are my willing pet for this long winter and I will do as ever I please with you and to you.” “Of course,” she acquiesced and opened her mouth. She had no wish to displease him. He slid the bit of meat in, rubbing her bottom lip with the flat of his thumb. A thread of honey fell from the meat and curled around her nipple. “Allow me,” said Marken. He went down on his knees in front of her. That alone nearly sent her into paroxysms from the breached etiquette between slave and keeper. When he spread her legs and took her by the waist, sliding her to the edge of her seat, she nearly passed out from a mixture of fear and unwelcome desire. His mouth closed around her nipple with a little growl that sent a chill through her and he laved and sucked. One hand went to her other breast and massaged. A sudden perplexing and powerful jolt of pleasure went straight to her loins. She panted once and let loose a long, low moan as his tongue flicked over her nipple, lightly biting at it. The servants continued to bring water in, but Sienne barely registered their presence. Marken did two things at the same time. He put one hand to the small of her back and moved the other between her legs. He slid a finger into her passage and she tried to back away since she couldn’t close her legs, but Marken held her in place at the small of her back. He began to thrust his finger in and out of her, simultaneously rubbing that place of sensitivity with his thumb. All the nerves from her feet to the top of her head woke up and a strange, hot, tingling pleasure pressure began to build. It was an unnamable sensation. All Sienne knew was that she didn’t want it to stop. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. He worked his finger within her passage until she moaned. Just as the pleasure seemed to reach some kind of a summit, an impending explosion, Marken withdrew his hand. Sienne lowered her head and her eyes flew open in confusion. Marken sat back on his heels and put his finger to his mouth, licking at it like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Mmmm…that’s better, Sienne.” He reached out and stroked her mound. “Good girl.” “Something throbs between my thighs,” she said breathlessly.

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“Your clit, Sienne. It is a good thing.” He smiled. “Training you may not be nearly as difficult as I’d presumed yesterday.” He stood and offered her his hand. She stood and took it. The place between her legs ached for his touch. He led her across the room toward the bathtub. “I am going to bathe you now,” said Marken. “My lord, I am a servant. I do not think this is at all appropriate.” She fell to her knees. “Please, allow me to bathe you instead.” Marken forced her to her feet. “Did you not hear what I said about you being my pet, Sienne? You are my willing slave for this season. These are conditions you agreed to of your own will. I desire to see you wet and naked now. I wish to run my hands over your body, inside your body. I want to see you glistening with soap and spreading your legs for me. Do these commands make it easier for you?” They did. In this sea of unfamiliarity, it was something to which she was accustomed. She nodded once. “As you wish, my lord.” She stepped toward the tub. She reached the edge of the bathing tub and saw they’d strewn the top of the water with lavender. Marken stepped behind her. He’d discarded his tunic and when he pressed his chest to her back she felt his warm flesh smooth and hard against her own. His arms encircled her and he put his mouth to her ear. “Mmmmm…you feel good against me.” His strong hands brushed over her nipples and then kneaded her breasts. He cupped them in his palms, bringing his thumb and forefinger around to pinch the sensitive peaks. Over and over he did this until her breath caught and her core quickened. Marken picked her up and lowered her into the warm bathwater. Taking the bar of lavender-scented soap in his hands, he lathered them, and then applied his hands to her shoulders and upper arms and rubbed, making his way lower. Sienne watched him as he moved over her, feeling his powerful hands kneading and massaging with gentleness at odds with his size. The muscled expanse of his chest was exposed to her view. It was hairless except for a thin line of black hair, leading from his stomach past the waistband of his trews. Her passage slickened and the thing he’d called her clit throbbed at the mere sight of him. His cock, long and thick, stood at hard attention, straining against the fabric of his trews. Marken reached her breasts and ran his soapy fingers over them, under them, cupping their weight, and sliding his finger over the sensitive peaks, manipulating them until her nipples were so stiff they almost hurt. Her clit throbbed harder under his ministrations, her pussy lips infusing with blood and pulsing with pleasure. She imagined Marken lifting her out of the bathing tub and laying her on the bed, sheathing his magnificent phallus inside her and pumping her with it. She’d never wanted a man like this. Already she grew fascinated with him because of his unbelievable kindness. Marken dropped a hand from her breasts and trailed it down to her pussy. “Spread your legs for me,” he ordered. She complied. Using his index finger, he circled her clit. His wet finger slipped around it easily. It swelled under his ministrations, growing larger and more sensitive. With his other hand, he continued to massage and caress one breast.

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She gasped and thrust her hips forward from the combination of sensations. He obliged her by easing a finger into her, first one and then another so she was stretched around him. He moved his fingers in and out, stroking her clit with his thumb and caressing her breast with his free hand. Sienne closed her eyes and gripped the sides of the bathing tub. “Do you like that?” he asked. She nodded. Her body was on fire. She felt the pleasure building once more. She spread her legs as far as they could go, her muscles tensing. He removed his hand from her pussy and rubbed her labia before pulling away completely. Making a noise deep in her throat in her frustration, she opened her eyes. He laughed softly. “Not yet, little eager one,” he said. “When you come, you’ll come hard. I’m going to make sure your first peak is one you’ll never forget.” Marken lathered his hands with soap again and washed her thoroughly, from her hair to her toes. Sienne was aroused beyond all conscious thought. She watched the muscles of Marken’s arms, chest, thighs, and buttocks flex as he moved. She wanted so much to slip his beautiful, rock-hard shaft into her mouth, see his head fall back with a groan and pleasure him until he emptied himself into her. He stilled by the side of the bathing tub and looked down at her with a heated gaze. It traveled from her face, down her body to her patch of silken red curls covering her pussy. He bent at the waist and picked her up out of the tub, then laid her on the thick carpet in front of the fire. He left and returned with a small razor in his hand. “Spread your legs again, Sienne,” he said. “I won’t shave all those luscious curls away, only those around your pussy lips—all the better to lick you.” She swallowed hard at the mental image his words invoked—his dark head disappearing between her thighs…. “Catch your knees in your hands and show me everything,” he ordered. She did as he told her to do, stretching her knees back and up, giving Marken a wide and wanton view of her core. She felt the razor being set to her skin and he carefully, methodically shaved her hair away. When he was finished, he took a vial of lotion and lathered his fingers with it, then applied to her newly shaven skin. It was slick and slightly cool. He ran his fingers over her folds and slipped a finger within her. With the index finger of his other hand, he massaged her clit in a circular motion. She tipped her head back and loosened her hold on her knees. “Stay in the position I commanded you take,” he ordered in low, harsh voice. He wanted her. It was no mistake. He inserted a second finger to join the first and kept up the relentless play with her woman’s bud. She moaned and dropped her head back to the rug, arching her back and stabbing her tight nipples into the air. She could feel how wet she was becoming. She wanted him to slide his phallus inside her and slam into her. She wanted to hear the slap of his skin against hers. A warm tongue replaced his index finger, but still he thrust his fingers into her passage. Marken groaned and it reverberated against her clit. He spoke so his lips brushed it. “You taste wonderful, Sienne.”

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He laved her clit with the flat of his tongue, then toyed with it with only the very tip. Sienne panted in pleasure. What was wrong with her? She’d never wanted a man like this. He removed his fingers from her passage and swept his tongue down over her, drawing her labial lips into his warm mouth and sucking at them gently. His tongue played with the entrance of her passage, then thrust within it. Sienne let out a strangled cry and her body tensed. The pleasure was building, cresting toward some unknown point that could only be the thing Marken called a “peak.” Marken stopped right before she reached it and she tipped her head up, looking down her body at him. He undid his trews and stepped out of them. He stood looking down at her and stroking his cock with one hand. She caught her breath in anticipation. He knelt and placed the head of his shaft to her passage. The smooth, rounded plum-shaped head pushed at her, teasing her. He slid it up her labia until it brushed against her clit. She whimpered. He moved his shaft against her, but did not slip inside. “Not yet. I want you crying, begging, for the want of me. I desire it though, Sienne. I want to slide inside you and thrust until you come all over me. I want to feel your muscles clenching around me, your liquid course over me. I want to release my seed into you and watch your beautiful face when you peak.” He rolled to her left side and turned her on her stomach. He slid his left arm beneath her and raised her up, so her buttocks were elevated. “Part your legs,” he rasped in her ear. She obeyed. With her pelvis braced against his forearm, he plunged two fingers of his right hand within her passage from behind, driving her hard and deep over and over. She cried out, her fingers seeking and finding purchase on the carpet. She lifted up until she was on her hands and knees. Marken plunged into her relentlessly with his fingers and her muscles tensed in prelude to the elusive peak. Marken ceased and rolled away. She let out a half moan, half whimper of frustration. Her clit throbbed and pulsed. She turned her head to watch Marken raise himself to his knees, his cock looking painfully erect. A whimper caught in her throat. She wanted him to take her hard and fast and slake her desire. This game he played was too cruel. She remained on all fours and dug her nails into the thick carpet, thrusting her hips upward. “Take me, my lord, please. I beg of you,” she sobbed, near tears. “Ease this torture. Ease the throbbing of my loins. Please, my lord. I beseech you.” She glanced up through the still damp tendrils of her hair that had slid down across her face. Marken looked pleased. He clenched his fists and his jaw at the same time, as though trying control himself and not fall upon her like a ravening beast. He knelt down and inserted two fingers into her passage once more from behind. He did not thrust, but let his fingers stretch and fill her. She spread her legs wantonly and to give him room to rub her clit with his other hand. “Yes, please,” she sobbed out through a constricted throat. She was half-crazed with wanting him.

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His voice was thick with desire when he spoke. “You’ve done well, Sienne. For that, you deserve a reward.” He began thrusting in and out. He took her clit between two fingers and rubbed it back and forth. Her peak came hard and fast. It washed over her in an explosion and she cried out from the force of it. Waves of pleasure flowed through her, stealing her breath and making her gasp. “That’s it, Sienne. Drench my hand. Good girl,” Marken crooned. Her muscles clenched and released around his fingers and she felt the liquid of her passage flow out of her. The spasms racking her passage made her vision go black and she nearly passed out from the force of it. She collapsed to the ground, spent, her legs still spread. Marken petted her sopping pussy and crooned over and over, “Good girl, good girl.” His voice was strained with need. It was clear he was barely hanging on to his incredible control. Sienne knew she had but to push him a little further and she would get what she really wanted—his cock within her. She moaned and wiggled her backside, enjoying the feel of his hand stroking her. That was all she needed to do. With a growl, he flipped her over and picked her up. He took her in two strides to the bed, laid her down and spread her legs wide. The head of his thick shaft pressed against the opening of her passage. “Yes, my lord,” Sienne panted. “Please.” Marken plunged his cock into her pussy and slid in an inch, then withdrew and slid in a bit farther. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he apparently endeavored not to injure her with his length. Inch by inch she took him. He stretched her like she’d never been stretched, filling every bit of her. She gasped and then moaned deep at the exquisite pleasure of it. “Sienne, your passage is so slick, sweet, and tight,” he bit off. He withdrew nearly all the way and took her by her hips. In one smooth, hard surge, he sheathed himself inside her to the hilt, making Sienne peak instantly with white-hot intensity. She cried out as the spasms racked her a second time. The muscles of her passage pulsed and squeezed around his shaft like a ravenous mouth consuming him. Marken threw back his head and groaned low and deep. Then he began to move. Sienne saw stars as the thick, ridged length of him pistoned in and out of her. He held her by her waist, and his hips hit her inner thighs with every inward stroke, making a slapping sound of flesh on flesh. On the heels of her second peak came her third, as hard and intense as the last two. After her third peak had subsided, Marken slowed and, without withdrawing or stopping his thrusts, gently took her left leg and wedded it with her right, so she laid on her side. Then he helped her to her knees, so she was once again on all fours and he was working her passage from behind. She gasped not only at the sensation of her pussy turning around his shaft while he thrust it within her, but at how deeply he penetrated her in this position. He brushed her womb with every inward stroke. The little bit of pain mixed with the pleasure nearly drove her insane. She moaned wantonly, uncaring

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that the whole castle should hear her. Her fingers clenched and released the bedcovers and she spread her knees even further apart, giving him complete access and free rein over her passage. His cock rubbed her pleasure point deep within. With every thrust he stroked it exactly right. He reached forward and took a breast in each hand, kneading and massaging. He tweaked the nipples between his fingertips. Her fourth peak hit her hard. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a cry. The muscles of her core milked his cock. Marken called her name and she felt him explode within her, his shaft pulsing as it released its seed to bathe her womb. “Sienne,” Marken crooned as he stroked her backside. “Your passage was undoubtedly fashioned for my cock alone by the hand of the Goddess.” Sienne smiled, pleased that while she’d been far too beside herself to use any of her pleasuring skills upon Marken’s body, that he was happy with her nonetheless. She expected him to withdraw from her and leave. However, he pressed her down beneath him on the bed and pulled out from her passage. Then he shifted to her side and pulled her close, laying feather-light kisses on her lips, cheeks, and forehead. Marken closed his eyes and his breathing deepened to that of sleep. Sienne snuggled into his hard, warm chest. Laying her cheek against a pectoral muscle, she sighed. A strange, but pleasant, light, fluttery sensation began in her chest, teasing her heart and rising into her throat. She smiled. Was it happiness? She’d felt it fleetingly throughout her life, mixed in among the heavier, more frequent emotions. Yes…it was true. She was happy. Marken had caused that. The thought at once pleased and perplexed her. How could she betray this man who was so generous in lovemaking, so passionate, and who made her happy? Her thoughts returned to her foster family and she knew she had no choice. A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by several others and finally she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Three

Marken awoke with Sienne’s small head tucked under his chin and one of her arms thrown over his waist. He glanced down at her body. She was such a tiny little thing…and exquisite. Cyrus had not lied about that. Her body was slight but shapely with nicely rounded hips, a narrow waist, and beautiful breasts.

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Her mouth was a heaven to which he couldn’t wait to return. She intrigued him, this little one. It had been a long time since a woman had aroused him like she did. Even now, looking down at her supple body, his cock grew hard. It was easy to grow jaded when women all around you only wished to give you pleasure, and rare indeed that one in particular should so fascinate him. Perhaps it was the fact that although she’d coupled many times, she’d never had pleasure. It was though she’d been a virgin when she’d come to him. She’d peaked for the first time with him. It made him feel a special bond with her for some reason, a connection. It made sex with her more than just simply an act that provided a climax, or a way to conceive a child. Cyrus would not get her back. He’d see Sienne freed come spring-tide, mind and body. Not only would he teach her to take pleasure from sex, which seemed to be proving an easy task, but he’d try his best to take those chains from her mind so she could live as a free woman and make her own choices regarding her future. Sienne muttered something in her sleep, then moaned softly. Not a moan of pleasure, but of torment. “No,” she whispered once. Then louder, “No!” Marken shook her. “Sienne, wake up. You dream badly.” Sienne roused, her pale green eyes came open. “My lord?” she asked drowsily. “You had a nightmare.” She pressed her fingertips to her temple and sighed. “The same one I have every time I sleep.” Marken tightened his arms around her. He could imagine the hell she’d been put through in her life. It made him angry and protective of her. Odd he should feel that way, but she was different from the women of his realm, who were, for the most part, pampered and bold, concerned with their looks and the state of their coffers. “What do you dream of, Sienne?” he asked her. She shuddered. “Of things best not said aloud.” She went silent for a long moment and then, with a jolt, sat up and bolted from the bed. The cold air pebbled her milky skin and made her nipples stand at attention. Marken’s cock stirred. “Why are you still holding me, my lord?” she asked. He chuckled. “Is there a reason I should not be?” She glanced toward the window, blushing. “It is simply that…I am not accustomed to having a man I service so attentive to me, especially not a great lord such as yourself. It is disorienting for me.” “You will have to grow accustomed to it, for I will have you near me often this winter.” Marken stroked his hardening cock. Having her stand there naked before him was making him hungry for her again. He reached over and took the black night wrap that lay across the head of her bed. “Put this on, Sienne. You will grow chilled without it.” She slid it over her narrow shoulders and looked down at herself. The material shifted over her erect nipples. “It is nearly transparent, my lord, but still warms me!” she exclaimed.

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Marken nodded. “It is a material made here in Nordan. So that men might admire the beauty of their women during the cold months. It’s warm as wool and as transparent as gauze.” Sienne stroked the material covering her forearm with a look of awe on her face. Marken stretched out on his side with the blankets covering the lower half of his body and braced himself on his elbow. “Where are you from, Sienne? Your Nordanese is accented strangely and I can’t place it. It is not Sudhraian, I hear.” Sienne looked up at him in surprise. “My lord has an excellent ear. Cyrus took me when I was five years old, from Sorance. That is the accent you hear.” “Ah. Sorance is a small farming country to the east of Sudhra, no? How did you come to be a slave?” She looked away and when she spoke, her voice was hard. “Cyrus raided my parents’ farm and killed my family. I was fostered until age eighteen by a family in Sudhra, always with the knowledge one day Cyrus would come and take me to train as a sex slave.” Her voice held a note of resignation. “You accept your fate.” She shrugged. “What else is there for me to do, my lord? Rail against it? To what end? I have known since childhood that I would one day be a slave. I have had time to accept the idea.” Marken nodded his head thoughtfully. “Sensible…but sad, Sienne.” “Perhaps so. But was it not Hark’an who said, ‘Those who fight the hands of fate, but struggle to tighten their bonds.’ It is true, no?” “The philosopher Hark’an? You’ve read him? You can read?” He could not keep the excited surprise from his voice. Most women had no interest in reading. It was his passion. She reached out and drew a finger down one of the bed posters. “Aye, my lord. My foster family was that of a scholar’s. I have read all the great Nordanese poets and philosophers, as well as the Sudhraian.” Marken leaned forward, pleasure suffusing him. Perhaps he’d found someone to talk to. He watched Sienne wander over to the hearth where a servant had laid a fire, and toy with the pieces on the boyant board. He wondered briefly if she played. “Are you familiar with the works of Gol’an and Mistr’al?” he asked. She shrugged, examining one of the intricately craved game pieces. “Of course, my lord. Gol’an studied the social impact of slaves in Sudhraian society. Mistr’al was one of the first feminist painters of Nordan.” She looked up from the game piece. “What is this for, my lord?” Curiosity shined in her eyes. “It’s a game of strategy called boyant . If you would like, I could teach you to play.” She smiled and it lit her face. He realized then it was the first time he’d seen her smile. It was a beautiful sight. “Yes!” Her face fell. “That is, of it is not too much trouble for you, my lord.” “I would enjoy having a partner.”

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She turned toward him. “I am interested in such things as strategy and also affairs of state. I would like to hear sometime about your system of governance here, my lord, about your military.” A woman interested in such things? How uncommon. “I will talk with you of anything your heart desires, Sienne. Your intelligence and curiosity arouse me more than you can know,” he said softly. “Come to me now,” he ordered. She set down the boyant piece and walked to the edge of the bed. “Drop the wrap to your hips,” he commanded. She slid the wrap from her shoulders and it slithered to her waist, revealing her lovely breasts. He lazily wrapped an arm around her waist and suckled a nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue. She let out a contented sigh. He loved her breasts. They were so full and fitted perfectly to his hands. He palmed the other as he licked. He wanted to take her again, but wouldn’t. His goal now was merely to excite her. He wanted to keep her in a state of constant sexual longing. The wind blew outside and snow buffeted the windows of the room. Winter had begun in earnest. Marken raised an eyebrow as his tongue explored every bump and valley of her nipple. It was going to be an interesting season. This girl had quite a few pleasing surprises in her. He slipped a hand to the apex of her legs, found the edge of the wrap and entered, his fingers seeking her clit. He rubbed it back and forth between the callused pads of his fingers, knowing it provided more friction. He teased and rubbed until it grew, blood coursing into it. She moaned, long and low. “My lord, you make me….” Her words trailed off into a moan and she parted her legs further. He lifted his mouth from her for a moment. “Yes, Sienne? I make you what?” “You make me hot, achy.” He slid his fingers to her pussy lips and ran the tip of his finger over them, in between her folds, then slipped one finger within her passage, followed by a second. “What do you what me to do to you, Sienne?” She groaned and ground her pelvis down on his fingers. One of her hands found the bedpost, the other his shoulder. “I want you to take me, my lord, hard and fast.” She looked so delicious standing there with her legs apart and his fingers sheathed inside her to the second knuckle. Her head was thrown back, her eyes closed. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was in a silent ‘O’ of ecstasy. Perhaps he’d allow her to peak. “Feel my fingers sliding in and out of you. Feel them stroking your pleasure point deep within.” She moved up and down on his fingers, seeking release. With his other hand, he stroked himself as he watched her. She moved up and down and moaned out her pleasure. “That’s it, Sienne. Good girl,” he encouraged her through clenched teeth. He wanted to throw her down on the bed and slide his cock into her, but it was important she learned that a man could give her pleasure

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and ask for nothing in return but the sweet sight of her. “My lord,” she cried. He let his thumb brush her clit on every downward stroke and her moans grew louder. Finally, she broke and her sweet liquid flowed over his hand as she found her climax. He withdrew his fingers and stroked her once. “As I said before, this task I set myself is not nearly as difficult as I’d presumed it would be,” he whispered. It made her blush. “You are not like other men, my lord,” she murmured. “No. I am not like the Sudhraian pigs who think of women as chattel. No, I am not.” Anger suffused his voice. “It’s their God who drives them to that. I will leave them their God, but question their love of pressing females into slavery.” Marken rose and donned a pair of trews against the chill. His cock was hard and aching, but he would wait to find his pleasure. The fire in the chamber’s enormous hearth raged, but it only bit a fraction into the Nordanese winter that filled the room. He went to the window and looked past the glass. “Snow falls and hems us in for the season,” he observed. “Can you not venture out during winter, my lord?” asked Sienne, who’d come to stand beside him. “Nay. The snow makes travel impossible. We can trudge across it using drapshoes. They have very wide bottoms that distribute a man’s weight and let him walk over the drifts, but it is difficult to travel thus and we do not do so on a regular basis.” Marken reached out, drew Sienne in front of him, and wrapped his arms around her. His cock nestled between the cheeks of her bottom and her head fit just below his chin. They were like two pieces that fit together perfectly. It was as though she’d been made to fit him and he for her. Odd such a thought should come to him. He chided himself inwardly for such fancifulness. “We gather much food in the autumn-tide, much meat and fruit and vegetables,” he continued. “We cure the meat so it will keep and we have preservation processes for the other. We do not want here. We simply lock ourselves in and await the melt. It’s a lazy season. Hopefully each winter season I can find a woman like you to occupy my time.” “Just one woman, my lord? I would think many women clamor for your bed.” He shrugged. “Aye, many women are willing enough to please me in my bedchamber.” He laughed. “Indeed just about anywhere. At times a specific woman will fascinate me, hold my attention. You, Sienne, are such a one.” “I am happy to please my lord.” “As I am happy to please you.” She glanced up at him and bit her lower lip. “I hope you I will not disappoint you, my lord. I fear I have not used many the things I learned in my sexual training upon you yet. You make me forget myself,” her

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voice faltered. “You make me forget my place.” He smiled. “Good, I am glad I can drive you to forget yourself. I am pleased to hear it. The only place you have for this season is in my bed, around my cock.” “I am happy to have the honor, my lord.” She sounded so subservient, as though nearly all her fire had been dowsed by her hard life. “Sienne? Why will you not tell me of your nightmare?” “My lord would not be interested in it.” His arms tightened around her. “But I am.” Sienne drew a breath and stared out the window at the snow-covered world. Marken fancied she believed the white glare would banish the images of the nightmare from her mind. “I dream of the men who’ve taken me without care. I dream of their hands upon my body, squeezing, invading, taking. I dream of their fists against my face, my stomach.” Her voice broke. “I dream….” “Shhhh, Sienne. I would not have you relive it for my benefit.” His voice held barely masked anger. He released her abruptly. “You will dress for the evening meal now. The hour grows late. Tonight is special, for Annia, a woman who resides in the castle, has conceived. Tonight we celebrate a hard-won new life. I will send servants to you. They will lead you to the dining hall.” She straightened. “Yes, my lord.”

Chapter Four

Every male eye in the room was on Sienne when she entered. She wore a gown of pale gold, made of the same flax-cloth—the nearly translucent but incredibly warm material her night wrap was made from. It hung to her ankles and the sleeves reached to her wrists, where they flared out into angel wings that wrapped around and were secured at the small of her back with a small golden clasp. The dress supported and lifted her breasts and held her tight around the waist. It left little to the imagination. Even from a distance, Marken could see her dark areolas and the patch of fiery hair between her legs. Her long dark red hair had been left loose, so long it brushed her narrow waist, but a long caplet of thin gold chain of equal length had been placed over it. Marken could feel the sexual interest of every man in the room heighten when she came in. It was palpable. They wanted her. He could feel it. The question was—would he let them have her? It was no question Sienne was one of the most beautiful women in the castle. She was probably one of

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the most intelligent too, Marken mused. To him, it was a heady combination indeed. Marken sensed the ability to have real conversations with her, unlike the other women of the castle, whose minds were only on pleasing him in bed and convincing him to take them to mate as mistress of the castle. As a Lord of Nordan, he would be expected to make such a match, though not necessarily a monogamous one, and take one of the few children produced by the castle’s women to foster as his heir, were his own mate unable to conceive. All the women of the castle desired the mate position, as well as provider of heir, but Sienne had no such designs upon him. Her responses to him were natural, honest. It was refreshing. He motioned to her and she walked toward him, gliding over the spice-scented rushes strewn over the stone floor and winding her way through the maze of long tables where men and women sat, engaging in the evening meal. She did not look at them, but kept her eyes carefully cast down. She passed Haeffen, his chief advisor, at one of the tables. Haeffen raised his rheumy eyes and his long white hair shifted over his shoulders. He watched her progression through the room, lifted his gaze to Marken, and smiled. Haeffen missed nothing. Marken was sure the old man recognized something special about Sienne…just as he did. She reached the dais and Marken rose and took her slender arm, helping her to climb the steps. “Sit, Sienne,” he said, indicating the chair beside his. She looked shocked. “My lord, I…I cannot.” “You can and you will, Sienne, because it pleases me. You will get over this ridiculous notion of class difference you have from your homeland. I am lord of this castle, but I will eat with those whom I wish to eat, no matter their rank. Think on the texts you’ve read of Gol’an, Sienne, and sit.” He drew the chair out from the table. She stood looking at him for a long moment, and then dropped into a low curtsy, “As you wish, my lord.” Sienne sank into the chair. Marken took his own seat. The nobles at his table eyed Sienne with interest, undoubtedly recognizing her from yesterday, when Cyrus had presented her at court. Ilyanna, a beautiful woman with hair the color of blackest midnight leaned forward, a territorial gleam in her eye. It was always so when he showed preference for a particular woman. She lowered her eyes and looked up him through her dark lashes, silky as a cat. “So this is the sex slave from Sudhra, my lord?” she asked. “The one the nobleman brought yesterday to entertain you this winter?” Sienne kept her eyes downcast and did not speak. “Yes, Ilyanna. Her name is Sienne. But sex slave she is no longer. I will buy her freedom from Cyrus when he returns in the spring, whether or no the lady wishes it.” Sienne’s head shot up and her gaze found his. It was filled with hope mixed with apprehension. His heart squeezed a bit at the sight. He’d do his best to banish that apprehension over the coming months. “But sex slave she has been her whole life, no?” continued Ilyanna. Her shapely lip curled. “She cannot be of much use in bed, my lord. Is she as much like the whipped dog she appears?”

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Sienne looked down again, blushing. Marken set his hand upon her thigh and rubbed in an effort to calm her. Marken leaned forward and drew a careful breath. He needed to assert Sienne’s status now with the other women, so she did not suffer their sharp tongues later. “Sienne has a mouth and throat fashioned by the Goddess’s own hand. She can make me come with her tongue and lips like none other. Her passageway is tight and sleek and milks my cock with exquisite care. She is responsive to my touch and eager to please.” All discussion within earshot ceased. Ilyanna’s lower lip thrust out in a pout. Undoubtedly, she was sorry she’d initiated the conversation. “She was made to fit me like a sheath to my sword, a glove to my hand,” continued Marken. “Not only is she one of the finest women I’ve ever bed, but she is quick of wit and possessed an eager mind. Aye, this one holds claims to my affections that are stronger than most, and I’ve only claimed her body but one time.” Marken sat back. “So far.” Ilyanna fell silent and after a long, pregnant moment, filled with many looks of interest at Sienne, the nobles returned to their conversations and their meals. Marken looked at Sienne and saw she was gazing at him with tears shining in her eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her until he heard her breath catch in her throat. He slipped his tongue between her lips and stroked. When he tipped his face from hers, her eyes were still closed, her lips parted. Marken smiled. “Eat, little one. You will need your energy with this mob. I do not doubt many men will approach you this eve.” He sat back, a twinge of regret coursing through him. “Especially after what I’ve just said.” She opened her eyes at that and looked slightly worried. Then she dutifully turned her attention to the food spread before her on the table. Marken watched Sienne inspect the edible offerings with interest. He reached out and placed a thick piece of pharing bird on her trencher, along with two slick slices of fruit. A serving woman filled Sienne’s goblet with sweet wine, her heavy breasts swinging under her gray silken gown. A horn blew from across the room and the doors opened. Into the chamber came a woman seated on a raised platform, carried by warriors of the castle guard. Annia was draped in rich fabrics and would be waited upon by a male contingent of her own choosing while she carried her child. It was a grand thing, her pregnancy, a rare thing. All precautions would be taken to ensure Annia carried the child to term and the child was born healthy. Indeed the pregnancy made Annia’s fortunes, for she would want for nothing as payment for the gift she gave their world. Everyone in the room cheered and applauded. The men carried the platform to the dais and helped Annia to the table, where she sat on Marken’s opposite side. Marken stood and aided her into her chair. “My friends,” Marken said loudly. The din in the room fell silent. “Tonight we drink and eat in celebration of Annia and the life pulsing within her womb. Let us give thanks to the Goddess above for blessing us.” He raised his goblet. “Eat, drink, and make merry in the name of the Goddess, the name of Annia, and in the name of her unborn child!”

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A cheer rose from the crowd and Marken sat down once again. Servants attended to Annia, loading her trencher with the choicest bits of meat and filling her goblet with fresh, sweet water. “Thank you for the words, my lord,” whispered Annia. Gently, she squeezed his forearm. He patted her hand. “It’s my pleasure. I hope there will be many more women to congratulate at the close of this winter.” “As do I, my lord.” Annia winked one amber-colored eye. “I hope it’s your child I carry. Your seed is strong and hearty. I would not doubt it took root in my womb.” Marken smiled at the compliment. “Whoever the father of the child is not important. I am simply glad your womb will bear fruit. We will all raise the child as our own.” Marken glanced back at Sienne and saw she’d been listening to their conversation. “It is a beautiful notion, my lord,” she said softly. “In Sudhra it is not so. In Sudhra if a babe is born to a lower caste member, it is taken from the mother soon after its birth and given to a family of the highest caste. It is not so here, is it, my lord?” “Nay, Sienne. It’s not so. The mother is an important part of a child’s upbringing. The ruling class of Nordan elevates those of the lower classes who bear children in lands and monies. Indeed, it is a thing most women strive for here.” Marken indicated her trencher, now heaped with food. “Eat now.” Sienne fell to the food before her. He watched her slide slices of glistening red cappa fruit between her lips and concentrated on the smooth skin of her throat as she drank her wine. She ate the food with an almost orgasmic air, giving her full attention to the trencher. Marken knew well how excellent the food must taste to her slave’s palate. She did not look up until most had finished their dessert and moved on to other activities. When she finally glanced around the room, she gasped. Marken followed her gaze. It was after the meal and the second “dessert” had commenced. The occupants of the hall openly petted and fondled each other. It was something no Sudhraian was accustomed to seeing. One fair-haired man had a chestnut-haired woman on his lap, her gown pushed down to her waist and her breasts bared. He suckled her nipple while under her dress, his hand worked. Another woman rubbed and licked a man’s phallus, bringing him deep into her throat at times, and eliciting moans of pleasure from the nobleman. “No…none of these women are slaves, my lord?” she asked. Her voice held a quaver. Marken noted her uneasiness and decided to ease it. He wound an arm around her thin shoulders rubbed one stiff nipple. “No,” he answered. “Here in Nordan we experience physical pleasures openly and without shame. Our women derive pleasure from sex, Sienne. Men have no need to force them to it.” She shook her head as though trying to get her mind around the notion and was failing. Marken reached a hand down and found the slit in her dress. His fingers brushed over the smooth, warm flesh of her thigh to her core. He found her clit and leisurely massaged it. Blood coursed into her cheeks and between her

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legs. Marken could tell by her body’s reactions that although she wished it were not so, she was aroused at the sight of all these people engaged in sex play before her eyes. Marken placed his mouth to her ear. “Come upon my lap and spread your legs, Sienne. I wish to make you peak in front of all these people.” She closed her eyes and her breath came in hot little pants. Her clit swelled and pulsed under his ministrations. “I know you are aroused,” he whispered darkly. “I can feel the truth of it.” He pinched her clit gently and she started, and then moaned as he rubbed it between his fingers. “I…I’m aroused. It is the truth, my lord. But I cannot bring myself to display my body thusly in front of so many people. The idea is a heady one, but I am not prepared for it.” He put his mouth to her ear and murmured. “It excites me more than I can say, the image of you displayed in front of all these people. I want to hear your moans and cries of satisfaction filling this chamber.” She shook her head. “I cannot, my lord. Bring me back to your chambers and distract me not with your caresses and I will play such music upon your person that you cry out in ecstasy. But I cannot show myself in such a passionate way here in public.” “Very well, I will not push you to it.” Marken withdrew his hand and she drew a ragged breath. “It’s perplexing how quickly you’ve made me desire an act I’ve detested for so long,” she murmured. “One kiss of yours and I am undone. With every pass of your hand upon my body, you erase part of my past.” Satisfaction welled up within him. It was nice to be so valued on such a personal level. He brushed his lips across her temple. “Do you not wish your past to be erased, little one?” Her jaw clenched. “I wish it to be eradicated.” Her voice had the quality of tempered steel, showing the strength Sienne had employed to make it through her life. Talyn, captain of the castle guard approached the dais accompanied by Carrick, one of his highest-ranking officers. They climbed the stairs and bowed to Marken. Marken nodded. “Talyn, Carrick. Good eve.” He flicked a glance at Sienne. He knew well why they were here. A knot formed low in his stomach and Marken wondered at it. It was not unusual to ask a woman for sexual engagement, after all. “Good eve, my lord,” answered Talyn in his low baritone. “We have come to ask your beautiful companion if she would like to dance with us.” Sienne went tense beside him. Marken frowned and fell silent. He slipped his arm around her shoulders once more and stroked her nipple, which hardened beneath his fingers. A strange feeling of possessiveness coursed through him. He shrugged it away. True, he had not lied when he’d said Sienne held charms other women did not, but that was no reason not to share her. It was the custom here. It was expected. Talyn and Carrick were following perfect, respected castle etiquette.

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Though it was strange Talyn was willing to share. Marken had never seen him do so with a woman before. Talyn was an aggressive, dominant man like himself and did not wish to part a woman’s attention. “Well…that is not for me to say,” he answered finally. “Sienne?” “Whatever would please you, my lord,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap. “No. I’m asking you what you want, Sienne.” Sienne bit her lip, as though in deep thought, and glanced at him. She studied his face for several moments before answering far too carefully for his tastes. “Yes, my lord. I would desire it.” Marken frowned. Did she truly desire it, or did she merely say yes because she thought he wanted her to say yes? He removed his arms from her shoulders. “Very well. Go with them.” He turned to the men. “But do not take her in public. She does not desire that…yet.” His dark promise made Sienne stiffen beside him. Aye…he’d make her want him to take her in front of an audience before the end of the cold season. He’d make sure of it. “Of course, my lord,” answered Carrick, nodding his blond-haired head. Sienne stood and Talyn took her forearm. Marken watched them walk down the steps, Sienne in the middle. His misgivings grew. Why should he feel thus? He’d never been reluctant to give one of his playmates to another before now. It was a part of the culture within his castle, indeed, within the borders of Nordan. Men and women coupled with each other when and where they wished. Rarely, a couple could take an oath of monogamy should they choose it and mate. However, since children were so difficult to conceive, was a rare thing. The more men a woman had sex with, the better her chance of getting with child. That was the ultimate goal. No other. Marken watched the three sink into the crowd with a frown upon his face. “My lord, it has been a long time since I’ve felt your stiff length within me,” murmured Calliope into his ear. Marken smiled. She was one of his favorites. She sank into his lap and wound an arm around his neck. Marken let her kiss him, hard and deep and tried to push Sienne from his mind.

***** Sienne allowed the man with the waist-length blonde hair to twine an arm through hers on her left side. On her right side, Talyn placed his hand around her waist. “You know me already,” said Talyn. He jerked his head left. “This is Carrick. He is my second in

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command. I am Captain of the Castle Guard.” She nodded. “I am Sienne.” She kept her face expressionless, her gaze steady and straight ahead. She’d slipped into the familiar attitude of slave. She accepted that they would take her together. She did not know if she would enjoy it. The men of Nordan were different than those of Sudhra. Marken had proven that thoroughly. They led her into the center of the room where others danced. Some men and women coupled against the far wall, some in the center of the room. Sienne watched a female sliding up and down on a male’s shaft, his hands on her waist, hers on his shoulders. Talyn pressed her against him from the front and Carrick from the back. Sienne felt warm hands sliding over her skin. She didn’t know whose hands went where, but they left no place unexplored. They cupped her breasts and gently tweaked her nipples. They slid between her legs and massaged her clit, her labia, and her anus. At the same time, they swayed to the music that surrounded them. Sienne closed her eyes, lost in a sea of sensation. She imagined it was Marken who fondled her now, his fingers that found the slit in her dress and then found the slit in her body, thrusting into her gently with them. She moaned, her hands seeking and finding Talyn’s hard cock through his trews. It was every inch as large as Marken’s and helped her imagination. “I watched you arrive, Sienne, and drank of your delicate beauty from afar.” Talyn spoke near her ear, then dropped his head and ran his lips down her throat, pushing the fabric of her dress down her shoulder. “You looked so helpless standing there with your keeper. All I could think of was drawing my sword and lobbing off his head.” “You would do such a thing for someone like me?” From behind, Carrick nuzzled her ears and throat. “Talyn does not like to see people caged. Neither do I. Talyn is a good friend of mine and we almost fought over who would get you first. We decided to take you at the same time.” He laughed low and nipped at her earlobe, sending her flesh into a fit of goose bumps. “It will be a first for him. And for you, my lady?” The formal address jarred her. If only they knew how far from a lady she truly was. Memories pummeled at her. She closed her eyes against them and shook her head. “Nay,” she answered. Talyn kissed her deep, his tongue stroking against hers hard. At the same time he found her clit and rubbed at it. “We will endeavor to make new memories to cover the bad, my lady,” he murmured into her mouth. He pushed her dress down over her shoulders to pool at her feet. Her flesh pebbled in the cool air and she whimpered. Being so exposed to so many people aroused her tremendously, but she wasn’t ready yet. Not for this. It was too soon. “Please, not here,” she murmured against Talyn’s lips. “If you must take me, take me away.” “As our mistress wishes and our lord commanded,” replied Carrick. Talyn caught her hand in his huge callous one and led her from the room. Carrick followed. She kept her eyes diverted from the dais, not wishing to see Marken’s gaze upon her. Instead she

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watched Talyn’s thick, dark brown hair move across his broad shoulders. It was pleasurable, to be sure, to have these men actually desire to give her pleasure. But she was doing this for Marken. He wished her to become accustomed to the ways of his court. He’d said as much in her chamber. This was her way of showing him that she could be whatever he wished her to be. She wanted him to be happy with her. They left the main room and entered a richly appointed chamber, complete with a large, soft-looking bed. Talyn led her to the center of the room and turned toward her. His green eyes had flecks of brown at the edges, she noted, and were heated with a dark look of desire. He dropped his mouth to her collarbone and began kissing her there while he played with her breasts with practiced ease, palming them and tweaking her nipples. Sienne put her arms around Talyn’s neck and let him pull her into an embrace. His lips found hers and parted them, letting his tongue slip in and dance with hers. From behind, Carrick ran his hands from her shoulders and down her sides. “Part your legs,” he said. She spread her legs and he slipped his fingers inside her and thrust. She instantly soaked his hand. “She is eager, Talyn,” Carrick said softly. “She is wet.” Carrick found a low footstool and asked her to straddle it. Then he lay on his back upon it, between her legs. “Talyn gets to kiss you there. I get to kiss you here.” Bracing himself against the footstool, he brought his mouth up and licked her clit. His fingers slipped inside her as he bathed her pussy with his tongue, and his mouth fastened around her clit, sucking and gently biting. Talyn stroked and pinched her nipples at the same time. She moaned against his mouth. Sienne made quick work of Talyn’s trews and slipped her hands inside to stroke his long, thick phallus. Pleasing Marken wasn’t such a hardship. She was appalled at how quickly she was getting over being expected to always please and never expect pleasure in return. Talyn and Carrick’s mouths and hands worked magic over her. Talyn dropped his mouth to her breast and laved and sucked her nipples each in turn with a tongue that knew well what it was doing. Her fingers knotted in his thick hair. Carrick nipped at her clit with his teeth while plunging his fingers within her. He growled low in his throat, and sucked hard at her clit. With a sharp cry she came. Pleasure washed over her in intense waves. As soon as they’d ebbed away, her clit swelled insatiably once more, wanting more of the incredible sensation. “I can wait no longer, Carrick,” Talyn bit off. Carrick extracted himself and pushed the stool away with his foot. He sought a vial of something from a nearby cabinet and came back with it in his hands. He put a little of the fluid on his fingers and gently rimmed her anus with it, while nipping at her neck. The liquid was slick and warmed her skin. “I am going to prepare you for my entry,” he murmured. “Though I think you are more than ready.” She could hear the gentle smile in his voice. She tensed. “Shh…it will feel good,” whispered Talyn as he palmed her breasts. “I’ll be within your passage and

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Carrick will be behind at the same time. You will—” Marken’s voice came from the doorway. “Actually, I will be in her passage.” Carrick and Talyn both stepped back, leaving her body bereft of the touch of them. “My lord,” they said in unison. Sienne dipped low in a curtsy. He sounded very displeased. Had she done something wrong in accepting Talyn and Carrick’s invitation? “My lord,” she greeted him, her voice shaking. Marken walked toward her slowly. His boots clicked on the stone floor with every step he took. He circled her with a dark, predatory look in his eyes, reminding her of a jungle cat stalking its prey. Heat rolled off his muscular body and his gaze was just as hot as it roved her body, catching at her breasts and the patch of hair between her legs. “I am sorry, Talyn, to take such a delectable morsel from you. But I fear I have no choice. I have decided I will be the only one to claim possession of her sweet passage for the time she is here. Later, I will make up the loss of her to you somehow. I promise you that, my friend and my captain.” Hope and joy surged through her. She glanced down so he could not see it in her eyes. Marken wanted her to himself . Marken flicked an annoyed glance at his captain. “Why you would choose to share a woman anyway, is beyond me. It’s very unlike you.” “I wanted her my lord. As did Carrick. We did not wish to fight over her so we decided to take her together,” answered Talyn. Marken raised an eyebrow. “Ah.” He reached out and flicked one of her hard nipples with his index finger, then leisurely rubbed it with the flat of his thumb. Desire jolted through her. Her passage was already slick with fluid. Now she wept anew. “Well…she is exceptionally beautiful,” said Marken. “And I can see how she would appeal to you, Talyn, with your need to give succor to those oppressed—to free those imprisoned. Everyone knows your history, and I respect your past hardships.” “My lord,” answered Talyn. “Your insight is superior.” A mixture of complex emotions infused his voice. Sienne glanced at the brown-haired warrior and wondered about his history. Carrick cleared his throat. “We could not know she’d laid such a serious claim to your affections so quickly. Otherwise, we would not have approached you.” Marken stopped in front of Sienne and placed a finger to her chin, tipping her face to his. Lightly he tasted her lips. That small contact alone made her knees weaken and her clit pulse. “Surprisingly…she has,” he murmured, “enough to claim her passageway as mine alone for this winter, at least.” He lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Carrick. “You, I will allow to come behind while I take her in front.” He looked at Talyn. “You, I send to Calliope. I left her hot and wanting. Her passage is slick with

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need and she will welcome your cock within her. Later, you have my word I will make up the loss of Sienne to you in an adequate and fitting way.” “Thank you, my lord,” Talyn answered. Marken guided Sienne’s hand to his member, which was rock-hard. Her gaze settled on Marken’s blue eyes and she heard Talyn take his leave. “I want her now,” Marken said hoarsely to Carrick. “I watched her with you two, her responsiveness has left me needing to find my ease within her.” Marken traced her lower lip with his thumb and her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. “Together, you and I will make her cry with pleasure and quench her thirst for sex with other men,” he murmured, his voice laced with passionate heat. Sienne opened her mouth to tell Marken she only desired him, but Carrick interrupted her. “I will gladly aid you, my lord.” Carrick let his trews slide to the floor. But Sienne only had eyes for Marken. Her hands went to his tunic and drew it over his head, then her fingers went the drawstrings of his trews, loosened them and sent them down. The short sword he always wore hit the floor with a heavy clank. She wrapped one hand around his hardened shaft and stroked him. Her lips closed around one of his nipples. She laved it and bit it, loving it with her mouth. “Ah, Sienne,” Marken murmured, brushing her heavy hair out of her face and over her shoulder. “How exquisite you are.” Carrick’s body warmed her back. A wide cushion bumped the back of her heels. “Stand upon this to make yourself taller and spread your legs, my lady,” Carrick said close to her ear, then kissed her neck. His voice was thick with desire. She obliged him and felt his fingers at her anus, then the head of his thick cock. Marken tipped her chin up with his index finger, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her long and deep. He set his cock to the entrance of her passage, and slowly pushed himself inside. He thrust once hard, until he was sheathed within her to the hilt and she was completely impaled upon his thick length. Then Carrick entered her from behind. Inch by inch, he slid his cock within her until she was completely filled. She closed her eyes and gasped. Her clit swelled and became sensitive. One brush against it and she knew she’d peak. “Are you well?” Marken asked. She let out a slow, careful breath and nodded. Then they began to move in unison. Sienne set her hands to Marken’s shoulders and let a low, primal moan rip from her throat. The sensations she experienced now were like nothing she’d ever had before. The hot, hard chests of the two men braced her. Their thick cocks surged in and out of both her openings relentlessly, driving her pleasure hard and high. With a cry her peak burst over her. Hot liquid trickled down her inner thigh.

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Marken groaned and placed his hands to her hips. “Climb me, Sienne,” he commanded softly in her ear. With his aid, Sienne wrapped her legs around his waist and Marken held her at her hips. His biceps bulged as he supported her weight. Carrick placed his hands to her waist and both men drove her up and down on their shafts, pounding into her. A second climax ripped through her body and pulled a long wail from between her lips. Could a person die from such pleasure? Both men grunted and groaned. Sweat sheened their bodies. Marken found her mouth and slid his tongue in to play against hers as her third peak washed over her. He caught every passionate sound she made in his mouth. Carrick cried out and she felt his hot seed flood into her. He withdrew his cock and Marken walked her over the wall. Bracing her against it, his hands gripping her tightly around the waist, he plunged into her over and over, the tip of his shaft massaging her pleasure point deep within. On her fourth peak, Marken yelled out, pinning her hard against the wall and injecting his seed into her. She felt it bathe her ovaries and for a moment, Sienne hoped he gave her a child. He held her tight in his arms, his cock still sheathed far within her. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her with a curious intensity on his face. She glanced over his shoulder and saw Carrick watching them, his cock erect again. “Leave us,” commanded Marken loudly. “Get out now!” The tone he used made even Sienne flinch. Carrick gathered his clothing and obeyed. Marken held her against him and found her lips with his. “Sienne,” he murmured. “What is it about you that drives me so? Why is it the thought of another man taking your body is almost more than I can bear?” He kissed her hard. “I cannot share you with another again, little one. I hope you enjoyed that for it will be the last time this winter.” Sienne buried her face in hair and inhaled the scent of him—soap and spice. She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He felt possessive of her. Did that mean she meant something to him? An absurd joy filled her. The idea that he might care about her made her lightheaded with happiness. Happiness was becoming a frequently experienced emotion for her, she realized with a start. Then she remembered Cyrus and sorrow once again took over. “My lord,” she murmured. Tears pricked her eyes and she closed them lest he see. “I am yours to do with as you please.” Her voice broke. “I am yours body and soul…for this season.” His arms tightened around her. “Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours, my lord. I wish it to be so.” Her heart swelled with the truth of those words. He pulled her away from the wall, walked to the bed and lay down with her upon it. His cock slid from her passage, and he pulled a blanket over them and cuddled against her. She snuggled into the heat of his

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smoothly muscled chest and sighed. Tomorrow she would think of Cyrus and the task she had in front of her. Tonight she would pretend she was free to give her love to this man. For love it was coming to be. Just for tonight she would dream of the possibility for happiness. Just for tonight. The heavy hands of sleep beckoned and she was duly seduced.

Chapter Five

Sienne watched Marken as he slept spread-eagle on the bed. His hair fanned out like a raven’s wing over the pillow. She never thought she could find any positive attributes for one of the opposite sex. But here was this kind, passionate man before her and he was hers for the taking…at least for a little while. Sienne realized she wished to give him the sexual gratification he’d given her. Not out of a sense of servitude, or obligation, but because she simply wanted to make him writhe with pleasure. Sienne bit her lip in contemplation. But every time he touched her, she lost herself. When he caressed her body, she could not even consider using her sexual talents upon him. All she could do was hold on under the onslaught of pleasure he gave her. She had no presence of mind to use any of her skills. She examined how he lay on the bed. The position he lay in now it was near perfect…. She slipped from under the blankets and searched the room for what she’d need. Returning with four long pieces of rope she’d found in a drawer by the fireplace, she saw that still he slept. Gently, so as not to waken him, she tied the pieces to each of the bedposts. Then she looped them around Marken’s wrists and ankles. When he awoke and moved, they would tighten and he would be caught. She slipped the blankets away and lay down between his legs. She laved his scrotum with her tongue, then drew one into her mouth and suckled it. His cock grew hard under her ministrations and she stroked it with one hand. He moaned in his sleep and his eyes opened. She took the opportunity to sink his erection deep into her mouth. He groaned. “Sienne.” He moved his arms and the ropes tightened. He let out a surprised sound and fell

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back against the pillows. “What are you doing, little one?” His voice held a dangerous edge. The warrior lord was not happy to give up control. He soon would be, however. Sienne would make sure of that. She put the head of his shaft down her throat and used her tongue to rub at him. His head fell back against the pillows and he let out a tortured hiss of breath. She drew him from her mouth and stroked him up and down with her hand. Her passage wept for him already. This feeling of having complete power over a man she was beginning to care for was an incredibly erotic thing. He growled like a trapped jungle cat. “Why?” he asked. She raised her gaze to find his dark blue one. “I wanted to pleasure you, my lord, but always you want to be in control.” She climbed his body as she spoke and straddled him, pushing her slick core to his length and rubbing against him. Then she dropped her mouth to his nipples and gently bit one. He groaned. She raised her head. “I tied you so you could not distract me from my tasks with your wickedly skillful hands.” She lowered her mouth to his nipples again, while rubbing her pussy against his phallus. Her clit pulsed and throbbed and she knew it would not be long before she found her peak. “But it excites me to excite you, Sienne.” She rose up, straddling him, and rubbed her core along his length. She braced her hands on his chest. “I am excited, can you not see?” She reached up and cupped her own breasts, pinching her nipples and drawing her fingertips over the distended peaks. She moaned wantonly and ground herself against him. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. “ Sienne.” He sounded desperate. He stabbed his pelvis up, pushing his hard length against her and straining against his bonds. “Loose me so I can touch you,” he said hoarsely. With her eyes still closed and her head tipped back, she shook her head. He moved again and brushed exactly the right spot. She cried out and came, her fluid coursing down over him. The pleasure ebbed and flowed over her, leaving her panting. She wanted to sheath herself around him, but it was too soon. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “See, my lord. You can make me peak even with your hands tied.” He strained against his bonds again and the muscles of his arm muscles flexed enticingly. The bedposts creaked and Sienne realized with a start that he could break the posts or his bonds if he tried but a little harder. She descended between his legs once more, making sure her skin slid along his and her breasts brushed his thighs as she went. He pulled on his bonds again, and let out a roar. Her hand closed around his phallus, her mouth poised at the head. “My lord, calm yourself. You will break the bed.”

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“I care not! I must have you! Release me at once.” She smiled and shook her head. “Nay, my lord. You are mine to do with as I please.” She licked his rigid cock and he tensed. With one hand she massaged his scrotum, an oft-neglected part of a man, with her mouth she made love to his shaft. She stroked deeper and faster down her throat until his breath came in pants and his hips raised off the bed. His body tensed to peak and she withdrew him from her mouth and placed her hand to base of his phallus. She tightened her grip until he stilled. He would not come so quickly. She wished to torture him as he’d tortured her. He let out a roar. “Sienne!” “Shhh, my lord. This is good for you,” she said. Then she returned his cock to her mouth for another round of teasing.

***** Upon the third time she’d gripped the base of his cock hard to keep him from spurting, Marken had had enough. The little witch would drive him insane with her taunts. All he wanted driven was her sweet passage. With one focused pull he broke the bonds that trapped his arms and ankles. Sienne gasped and backed away from him, until she hovered at the edge of the bed on all fours. Her breasts swayed as she moved. He let out a low growl, his attention focused on them, as well as the curve of her bare buttocks and hips. Not bothering to free the bits of rope that were still bound to him, Marken went to his hands and knees and crossed the huge bed toward her. Sienne watched his approach with trepidation clear in her eyes. Only dark, dangerous desire shone on his face, he knew. She’d soon realize just how far she’d pushed him. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her to the bed beneath him. She let out a little cry, and he stifled it with his mouth. Inserting his knee between her knees, he parted her legs and settled himself between her thighs. In one long, hard thrust, he impaled her on his cock. He drove her straight into the mattress, so hard she hit the springs deep within. She came instantly, her muscles contracting around his length and the sounds of her pleasure filling the room. A grunt of pure, animalistic satisfaction rumbled past his lips, mixing with Sienne’s cries of pleasure. Six long, hard strokes made her come again and Marken spilled himself within her with a roar, unable to take any more. Marken lay on top of her, completely spent. His mouth found one of her delicious ears. “Don’t ever do that again, Sienne,” he whispered as he nibbled. “I enjoyed it too much.” “Of course, my lord,” she answered. Marken heard the smile in her voice.

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*****

“But it’s not natural!” Marken ground the heel of his hand into his eye and whirled on Haeffen who sat in a chair within his sitting room. “I have not the will to seek another. It is been two months and Sienne is the only woman I desire, the only woman I want to bring to my bed!” Haeffen reached out a gnarled hand. “My lord, calm yourself and I will tell you a story. Sit.” He motioned to a chair near his own and Marken sank onto it. Haeffen twirled his long white beard between his thumb and forefinger, seemingly deep in thought. “There was a time when children were not so difficult to conceive, and men and women mated monogamously far more often than they do now. In fact each man and woman found another and aligned themselves, using a ceremony that told the world of their commitment.” “I have heard of this, Haeffen. It was a time so long ago our great-great grandsires, whoever they may be, were not even conceived yet. Women were treated as chattel to be traded in matings to secure political alliances, land, and power. The notion of paternity was important. A woman could only bed her husband and no other. If she did, she could be punished or put aside because the men feared another might sire one of their children and dilute their bloodline.” Haeffen grunted. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. Bloodlines were important back then. It was when Sudhra and Nordan were one nation.” Marken studied the ornate gold and green edged mantle above the hearth across the room. “The Goddess grew angry at having her chosen sex so mistreated and cursed the men, making their seed less potent. Soon, it would take root so rarely the population was much endangered. Mistrust grew. Anger at the Goddess for her curse abounded. Some renounced the Goddess and followed a new God who did not revere women as a life-giving force. Those people traveled south and war broke out between the followers of the God and those of the Goddess. It is because of this the original nation split and two were formed.” Haeffen nodded. “You know our history as well as I do.” He leaned forward. “But I’d wager there is some you do not know, my lord. Have you any idea why a man and woman might choose to bind themselves as monogamous mates? Reasons other than political alliance, or land, money, or titles?” Marken pushed a hand through his hair and let out a breath of frustration. “Those that mate for life claim love. They claim that one completes the other, satisfies completely on many levels, so that neither has a need to seek anyone else.” “Can you imagine how strong a bond they must have forged to renounce all others save each other, Lord Marken, in a place like Nordan where open sex play is considered normal and there is always someone ready to pleasure you?” “I know. I have thought of this.” He shook his head. “I confess I have never understood it.” “They are more than just mates of the body, my lord. They are mates of the mind and soul. Out of all the

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people of the world, they have found the one who fits them like a sheath to a blade, a glove to a hand.” Marken started, hearing his own words repeated back to him. Haeffen had been present at Annia’s celebratory dinner two months past, but he’d been far across the room—too far to hear what he’d said to Ilyanna. “Have you considered, my lord, that you, a high ranking lord of Nordan, may have found your soul mate in the form of a sex slave from Sudhra?” asked Haeffen. Marken quoted Gol’an before he realized her was doing it. “Emotion knows no rank, no class.” “Aye, my lord. It’s too true. Perhaps you have found yourself a bit of elusive love.” Marken shook his head. The notion of such a loss of control as love would bring caused fear to course through him. A man and woman joined in the sex act for the climax and to hopefully create a new life. Love… intimacy …changed all that, made it complicated, messy. “Nay, it is not love.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I am infatuated with Sienne. I will keep myself from her from now on. It’s as simple as that.” Haeffen leaned back in his chair and smiled. His blue eyes twinkled. “You can try.” “I will not try! I will do!” “We shall see. We shall see.” Marken ignored the smug look upon his face and decided to change the subject. “I think Sienne is spying for Cyrus.” There was something the old man wouldn’t know. Haeffen stroked his beard. “Really? I thought Sudhra had no quarrels with Nordan.” “As did I. However, Sienne is far more interested in Nordanese politics and our military than any normal person should be. I do believe Cyrus planted her here in the hopes of seducing me into revealing information.” Marken looked down, brooding. “I wonder what he’s threatening her with?” “Have you revealed any information, my lord?” Marken looked up sharply. “Of course not. I have fed her information of no consequence to carry back to Cyrus, so he’ll have no quarrel with her, but also so he will not have an advantage over us in any way. By the time Cyrus realizes Sienne has given him worthless information, she will be too far from him to harm. I will make sure of that.” Haeffen stroked his chin. “Always Sudhra has reproached us our belief in the Goddess. They think we are weak to have a female deity. Aye, they may indeed be planning something, my lord. We have many spices and silks that are valuable to them. Our people would work well in their cambalt mines, our women forced into their beds. We have resources they would desire.” “Aye, Haeffen, these thoughts are not foreign to me. I may have to do some intelligence gathering of my own come the spring-tide melt.” Haeffen leaned forward. “What of the girl, my lord? What of her betrayal of you?”

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He shrugged. “I hope she will eventually grow to trust me enough to confide her secrets.” A part of Marken also hoped that Sienne did not feign her responses to him in order to gather information. He tried to tamp that thought down—tell himself it would not matter if indeed she did put up an act with him—but it rose up and pinched him with pain all the same.

*****

Sienne closed the door to her chamber and walked down the corridor toward the gardens. An overhanging roof sheltered it from the worst of the snow, and sometimes Sienne went there to feel the outside chill air bite her cheeks. Nearly everyday for the last two months, she had warmed Marken’s bed. They had pleasured each other so many times she despaired he would tire of her and seek another. Indeed, she feared her worst nightmare had come true. Marken had not sought her attentions in five days. He did not want her any longer. Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them away, furious with herself. She’d allowed herself to become emotionally attached to him! She knew a man could not be kept to one woman. She knew he’d eventually tire of her. Despite that knowledge, she’d allowed herself to care for him, to attach to him, to become infatuated with him. One fat tear rolled down her cheek. Her pain was her own fault. She’d allowed Marken to kindle emotions within her that she’d never had. She’d allowed herself the fantasy of him while knowing well the reality. And the whole time she’d been gathering information from him with the sole intention of betraying him and the country of Nordan to Cyrus. Marken had told her everything she’d wanted to know while they lay in bed, played boyant into the wee morning hours, and in between their discussions of artists and philosophers. Another tear rolled down Sienne’s cheek as she descended a flight of stone stairs and turned into the corridor leading to the gardens. She reached out a hand and idly ran her finger along the cool, bumpy stone wall as she walked. Tallow candles flickered over them from sconces inset in the corridor, casting long shadows along the floor. As Marken had fed her bits of honey-coated pharing bird, he had told her of Nordan’s military, how they guarded their borders. He’d told how they trained their soldiers and what countries with which they had the closest ties. Marken suspected nothing. Why should he? Sudhra and Nordan had been friendly neighbors for years. How could Marken know of the growing Sudhraian faction calling for the domination of Goddess worshipping Nordan, so that they might make Sudhra and Nordan one nation again, under the Sudhraian God? Sienne reached the door to the gardens and opened it. She shivered, but it had less to do with the wintry air that hit her and more to do with the thought of this culture being squashed, all the Nordanese women

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pressed into slavery…the bloodshed of their proud resistance. Sudhra’s military was fierce and strong. For certain Nordan would not survive their onslaught. Sienne stepped outside and pulled her long cloak around her. She knew that even though it would mean her own death and perhaps even that of her foster family, she could not provide Cyrus with the information she’d gleaned. As difficult as it would be, she knew her foster family would agree. Their sacrifice would save lives. Sienne would not be a party to war and bloodshed. She would not aid Cyrus. She thought of Anna, her foster mother and how she used to weave her warm dresses in the winter, and Pentan, her foster father. Pentan had trained her mind, taught her to read and think for herself. He always told her that a sex slave had dire need of those abilities, so she would never lose all of herself to the dark reality of another. Kallian, her foster sister was two years younger than herself. Sienne wondered if she’d married yet. Tears rolled freely down Sienne’s cheeks and froze on her skin. In an effort to calm herself, she took deep draughts of the fresh air and let herself sob. Something moved by the garden wall and Sienne let out a little scream of surprise. She had thought she was alone. “Sienne,” came Marken’s deep voice. “Why do you cry?” He crossed the snow-covered ground, his boots crunching on the frozen layer. Sienne wiped at her cheeks. She shrugged. “I am fine, my lord. I have but a speck of dust in my eye.” She tried a smile. He took her by the shoulders. “Look at me, Sienne,” he commanded. “One does not sob from a bit of dust in one’s eye. Tell me, why do you cry?” She couldn’t tell him the entire truth—that she’d just signed her own death papers and those of Pentan, Anna, and Kallian by deciding to disobey Cyrus. Nor could she lie to him. “I…I cry partly for the loss of you, my lord,” she admitted softly as another tear rolled down her cheek. She looked away, embarrassed by her own honesty. He’d think her a fool. He forced her face to his with a gloved hand and wiped the tear from her face. Sienne sucked in a sharp breath at the look in his eyes—like man denied food for a fortnight and then presented with a feast but was forced to abstain. His shoulders were hunched forward, his breathing ragged. His tenderness with her was forced, she could tell. He wanted no more than to tear her clothes off. “Why did you stay away from me for so long?” she whispered. “I did it to test myself. I tried to couple with other women, but that failed. So instead I tried to keep myself chaste. I had to hide here in the gardens at times to keep myself from coming to you.” His eyes darkened. “Then you came to me.” She shook her head in confusion. “But that does not answer my question. Why did you stay away?” He lowered his mouth to hers in response and kissed her hard and deep. His tongue branded hers with a fire that reached all the way into her womb. “Let me have you now, Sienne. Let me do what I will,” he murmured into her mouth.

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She nodded once slightly. He took her hand and led her into the castle. To the left of the door was a dark alcove. He brought her within, then fell upon her like a ravening animal. Sienne could do little but hang on to the small table in the corner as Marken pulled her coat from her shoulders, then ripped her gown straight from her body. The sound of tearing fabric filled the small space. He growled low in his throat and rubbed his fingers over her erect nipples, then bent his head and licked them. His breath was warm on her skin. She moved to touch him and he pinned her hands to her sides. Speaking a breath’s space away from her nipple, so she could feel his lips move against it, he said, “Do not touch me. I will force myself within you and hurt you in my lust if your hands stray to my body. Let me play with you first, Sienne. Let me prepare you.” Liquid trickled from between her thighs at the sight of the feral look on his face in the half-light. She raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Believe me, my lord, I am more than ready.” He stood and looked down at her, pressing himself against her. “Trust me, Sienne. You are not nearly ready enough.” She could feel his hard cock against her lower stomach. She licked her lips. “I am yours to do with as you wish, my lord.” “Call me by my given name. Call me Marken.” Shock ripped through her. Even now, after spending so much time with him, she couldn’t imagine…. “I…I can’t….” “You can,” he growled low in his throat. “Use my given name, Sienne.” “All right my…Marken.” Marken closed his eyes. “Better,” he murmured. “It is music. I want my name on your lips as I make you come, little one. My name and no other.” “As you wish, my lord.” He growled dangerously, but said nothing about her slip. He put his mouth close to her ear and pressed his tunic covered muscled chest to her bare one. His erection ground into the tender flesh of her stomach. “I want you,” he whispered into her ear, “like I’ve never wanted a woman before. Do you want me back?” Her nipples responded by tightening painfully. She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it and let out a long, slow breath. He lowered his head and bit at her nipple with his teeth and it was all she could do to remain standing. He slipped a hand down, searching out her folds, and slipped a finger within. He growled in his throat and it reverberated through her body. “You’re wet. Turn around. I want to take you from behind.” She turned, bracing herself against the table. He stroked her buttocks, making sounds of appreciation deep in his throat. “Push your beautiful buttocks into the air for me.”

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She complied. He ran a hand over her lower back. She felt the touch of cold steel against her skin and she started, twisting around to see what he was doing. In his hand he held a long, thick piece of metal, inset with jewels. It was the hilt of the short sword he wore always at his waist. He reached around and rubbed it against one hardened nipple. “I’m going to use this on you until you cry for mercy,” he promised. She shivered with pleasure and began to turn toward him. He withdrew the hilt from her breast. “You don’t have my permission to move, Sienne. Lift your buttocks, lower your head, and spread your legs for me. If you don’t comply, I’ll drag you back to my chamber and tie you down.” She did as he asked, pressing herself down against the table and turning her head so she could watch him. His licked his fingers to lubricate them and rubbed her clit. She let out a soft moan and felt her clit grow large for him. She spread her legs farther. “There’s a good girl,” he crooned. He knelt and placed his tongue to her, soft and warm. She closed her eyes as he laved her, licking up all her juice. He found her clit and concentrated on it with the tip of his tongue, flicking it back and forth. He groaned deep in his throat and she answered in kind. He moved his head away. “You taste delicious. I can’t get enough of your sweetness. But I don’t want you to come yet.” He placed the chilled tip of the jeweled hilt at her clit and moved it in a circular motion. She caught her breath. He brought it to her passage, pushed it into her, and began to thrust. It wasn’t as big as his phallus, but it still filled her. The jewels rubbed against the sides of her, giving her sensations she’d never experienced. He reached around and played with her clit, rubbing at it with his fingertips and the edges of his fingernails. He moved it, letting the hilt slide in and out of her. Her impending peak built until finally she didn’t think she could stand it anymore. “Come for me, Sienne,” Marken commanded softly near her ear while he stroked the hilt into her and his fingers played against her clit. She exploded, letting out a yell of release. She felt her muscles clench and spasm around the hilt and her juices drench it. “Please, my lord,” she whispered. “What?” The word came harsh with his arousal. “Please, fill me, my lord. Please,” she panted. “I want to feel your flesh against mine.” “What did you call me? What did I say about using my name?” She shook her head in frustration. She still couldn’t bring herself to use his name. “Please.” He let his short sword fall to the floor with a loud clank. She could hear him scrabbling to undo his trews

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and braies, letting them fall to the floor with a soft whoosh of fabric. With no pretense, he pushed himself inside her to the hilt. She groaned and grabbed the opposite edge of the table with both hands. “Yes, my lord,” she breathed. With a low growl, he pounded himself into her. The sound of his flesh hitting hers alongside his growls of pleasure and her moans filled the alcove. He stopped for a moment and repositioned himself within her then began to move again. Now he rubbed against that spot way deep inside her. He ran himself over and over it. Sienne peaked again, her muscles spasming and he came with her, her orgasm milking him of his seed. Still sheathed within her, Marken drew her up against him and held her, stroking her hair with one powerful hand. It was incredible how a man with his strength could also manage to be so tender. “Why can you not say my name, little one?” he murmured to the top of her head. She turned and he slipped outside of her. Shivering, she nestled into his body for warmth, winding her arms around his waist. He hadn’t even taken his tunic off in his haste. “I will endeavor to do better, my lord…Marken.” He sighed heavily, almost sadly. “Do not try, Sienne. Call me what you will.” She buried her face in his chest. “Thank you.” Calling him by his name aligned her too closely with him, and soon, after the melt, she’d be leaving him behind. Either Cyrus would kill her on the spot for her disobedience, or she’d be forced to accompany him back to Sudhra. No amount of money Marken could offer for her would deter Cyrus’s wrath for her disobedience. “I am sorry I destroyed your gown, little one.” “That’s alright. I have gowns a plenty in my chambers.” He grunted. “Too bad you’re not going back to your chamber.” He scooped up her coat from the floor and placed it around her shoulders. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he promised darkly. The candlelight from the corridor beyond the alcove licked over him. She swallowed hard, hoping he told the truth. “We’ve the last five days to make up for.” His eyes glittered. “Aye, little one. You will not leave my bed anytime soon. I am finished abstaining.”

Chapter Six

Sienne reined her horse around a tree and waited for Marken to catch up to her. His mount’s hooves pounded hard on the path and he stopped beside her. “You’re becoming a better rider than I,” he exclaimed. His breath showed white in the chill spring air.

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“Aye, and this is only the third time we’ve been riding together.” He lowered his voice seductively. “I’m not at all surprised you were a natural in the saddle. You always do well when mounted.” Sienne smiled, then dug her heels into her horse’s sides and raced off down the path, knowing Marken would follow. During the past month she and Marken had been nearly inseparable. The entire castle talked about them. Women shot her dirty, jealous looks and made snide comments when they passed her in the corridors. Sienne cared not. She was happier than she’d ever been in her entire life. The wind caught the pin holding her hair up and her tresses tumbled down her back in a thick mass, obscuring her vision. She tossed her head, letting it stream behind her and pushed her mount to a faster speed. She raced over the ground feeling as though she flew. The cold wind numbed her cheeks, but Sienne cared not. She felt free. Marken had given her that. She came to the top of a high hill and reined her mount up hard. The smile fled her lips and her heart came up fast into her throat. All the joy she’d felt evaporated, leaving despair in its wake. Sorrow coalesced somewhere near her heart. The sound of pounding hooves filled the air and Marken came up beside her. His gaze followed hers. “Already,” he breathed. “Already.” Her voice held a note of finality. Snow still coated the frozen ground in places, and frost laced the trees, but still Cyrus came. In the valley below them marched a line of soldiers, the green and blue pennants of Cyrus’s Sudhraian Lorddom proudly flying. Undoubtedly, he was eager to discover the secrets she’d gleaned from her lover. Marken reached out and put a gloved hand to her forearm. She flinched. “Easy, Sienne. He will not take you. I will not allow it.” She laughed and it sounded short and bitter to her own ears. “You know not Cyrus, my lord. He takes what he wills when he wills it.” “I know men like Cyrus. He will not refuse the money I set down for your freedom.” “He will, my lord.” She turned and looked at him. “I hold things dearer to him than coin.” Not allowing Marken to ask any questions, she spurred her mount around and down the hill toward the castle. The trees and bushes rushed past her, but she felt no joy in her flight this time, for this flight was back into the cage from which Marken had freed her. With every beat of her mount’s hooves on the frozen earth, the noose around her throat tightened. Sienne slid off the horse at the castle stables and threw the reins to a stable boy. Marken was right behind her and did the same. He whirled her around to face him, his hands strong and warm on her shoulders. “Why do you run?” he

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demanded. “Do you not trust me enough to believe I’d protect you, Sienne?” She looked down and away. “I trust you. I trust you with all my heart.” “Then do you think me cold enough to take you to my bed and keep you beside me nearly constantly for three months, then throw you to wolves?” He threw one arm wide in an angry gesture. “I do not believe that, my lord.” She shivered. “But you know not all that Cyrus desires of me, why he brought me to you.” Marken’s hands tightened on her shoulders, then relaxed. He remained quiet for a long moment. “I think I do know, Sienne.” He turned and signaled to the stable boy. “Run to the portcullis and tell the guardsmen to admit the entourage flying Lord Cyrus’s colors. Tell them I will be in my rooms and notify me when they’ve been ensconced in their chambers. Tell them to leave Cyrus and his thanes in the court and I will greet them presently.” “Right away, my lord.” The stable boy bowed and ran off. He crooked a finger at Sienne. “You. Come. Now.” Sienne followed Marken to his chambers. Her heart pounded in her chest. Would now be the moment she lost him? Could she not have one more night? One more afternoon? A moment? Anything? But the time was over for subterfuge. She had to tell him of her treachery. How she’d gained his trust and gleaned his secrets. He’d never forgive her. He said nothing until his door was closed behind them. “I could have you killed for what you tried to do this winter.” “My lord?” Marken stalked to the fireplace and turned. “Did you think I wouldn’t know what you were doing? Does Cyrus think me so feeble-brained?” She stood stiff by the door, still wearing her riding coat. “You knew all along,” she breathed. “Of course I knew, Sienne. You are intelligent, so it took a little while to realize it was not merely out of eager minded curiosity that you asked me questions about Nordan’s military. After all, there was no reason for me to suspect Cyrus would be foolish enough to plan an attack against Nordan.” She shook her head. “It’s not only Cyrus, my lord. There is a whole contingent of lords in Sudhra who plan the destruction of your culture. They plan to invade and conquer Nordan in the name of the Sudhraian God.” Marken walked to her slowly. Every step reminded her of a Sudhraian jungle cat—beautiful, graceful and dangerous. He always brought that creature to mind. His long black hair was free and it shifted over his shoulders, obscuring his face. Sienne took two steps back before she realized she was on the retreat. He stood in front of her and she felt his body heat radiate out and caress her, bleed through the fabric of

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her gown and brand her flesh. “And how do I know you tell the truth now , my pretty little spy?” She looked up at him and she could not keep her lower lip from trembling. “I’m sorry I betrayed you, my lord. I did not want to do it.” “What does he hold over your head, Sienne? Your life?” She laughed. “If it was only my life this would not be so difficult. Nay, he holds the lives of my foster family in his palm.” Marken closed his eyes. “Then I understand. I knew you would not do something like this out of love for Cyrus. I knew he threatened you with dire consequences for your failure.” “Why did you not tell me you knew before now, my lord?” He opened his eyes. His smile was tinged with sadness. “I wanted you to tell me on your own. I wanted you to trust me enough to do that.” She ducked her head, ashamed. “We will have to be careful in the moves we make with Cyrus,” he continued. “I do not wish to start a war between our countries before Nordan is prepared. We will exhaust our ability to solve this problem with diplomacy. I would prevent innocent blood spilt if possible.” His voice grew hard. “But…in the end, if it’s a war Sudhra wants, it’s a war Sudhra shall have.” Sienne shivered. “I promise you, Sienne, that you and your foster family will be safe.” Sienne glanced down, betraying her doubt. “I know you will try, my lord. I will still care for you if you fail.” He gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. “Will you believe what I say? Would you believe that I…I love you, Sienne?” She looked up in shock. “It’s true. That is why I’ve not desired another woman since you arrived. That is why I’ve wanted you beside me these last three months. The whole of the castle knows how I feel. Do you tell me you never expected it?” She shook her head. “My lord…I….” “Do you love me back, Sienne? Or were the last three months only about obtaining information from me to protect your foster family?” His voice held a note of uncertainty, vulnerability. She squeezed her eyes shut and reveled in the sweet, unbelievable joy that coursed through her. She opened her mouth to tell him she loved him back sure as spring followed winter, but a knock sounded upon the door. Marken closed his eyes and let a breath of pure frustration slip between his teeth. “Enter.”

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A guardsman peered within. “Cyrus and his thanes have arrived and await your pleasure in the court. “Tell them I will be there shortly and tell Haeffen to attend.” “Aye, my lord.” The door closed. Marken brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Your answer matters a great deal to me, Sienne. But either way you answer, aye or nay, will not change the fact that I will protect you. We will speak of this later, when there is more time. Until then, you stay in my chambers. Stay away from the windows and do not venture outside for any reason. I will not have you near Cyrus or his men for the time he is here. He shall not speak to you or so much as lay eyes upon your form. Do you understand?” “Yes, my lord.” Marken released her and strode to the door. “Use this time to think upon what I’ve said.” He opened the door and turned to her before disappearing through it. “I meant it all.” He left and Sienne heard the lock in the door click. Sienne turned and walked to the window. Cyrus’s soldiers milled around the inner bailey. He’d brought many men into Marken’s castle—a place just waking from a long, lazy season and not prepared for bloodshed. Indeed, it was undoubtedly what Cyrus intended. The Sudhraian believed the Nordanese were weak. They thought that because they worshipped a female deity, treated their women well and spent so much time trying to make children that they’d be easy to conquer. She remembered suddenly what Marken had said about staying away from the windows and went to stand at his bookshelves instead. Running her finger over the spines, she selected one containing poetry to read. There was the sound of the lock being jigged and the door slammed open. Sienne jumped and whirled around. The book slammed to the floor. In strode Ramdan, one of Cyrus’s men. He stalked toward her. Sienne screamed and he slapped a hand hard over her mouth. “Hush, girl. I’ve not come to harm you…yet,” he threatened close to her ear in Sudhraian. “I saw you in the window. Your lord Cyrus is making nice with Marken now, but I came to make nasty with you.” She bit his hand. He yelped and pulled away. Sienne ran to the side of the bed where one of Marken’s broadswords lay against the wall. She grunted trying to raise the heavy piece of metal and unsheathe it. “Bitch,” said Ramdan as he approached her. He grabbed the sword from her hands and easily unsheathed it, then laid the edge of it to her throat. “No whore dares lay a hand on a warrior of Sudhra.” He twisted the blade and Sienne felt a drop of hot blood well and trickle down her throat. “If you so much as swallow, this blade will kiss your flesh. I’m here to remind you of you of your duty, that’s all.” “I won’t, Ramdan!” she whispered, her head butted up against the wall, as far from the blade as she could manage. “I won’t say a word of what I’ve learned to Cyrus. You can kill me if you want.”

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“Then your foster family dies, too.” She swallowed hard and the blade licked her skin again. She winced. “How can I trade the lives of the few for the many? For an entire culture, which the Sudhraian will lay to waste?” “Perhaps I should simply kill you now and wait within Marken’s chambers and torture him slowly.” Anger flared hot and hard. “Don’t touch him,” Sienne cried in spite of herself. Ramdan raised a sand-colored brow. “Ah…so the little whore cares for her temporary keeper does she? Interesting….” Ramdan stroked his beard as he considered her. Sienne closed her eyes in misery. She knew well she’d just given him leverage over her. The cold sword tip moved from her throat to just under her chin. Her eyes flew open. “Meet Cyrus in his chambers at the stroke of midnight and tell him all you’ve discovered. If you do not, we will flay the skin from Marken’s body while you watch. My threat is Cyrus’s threat.”

*****

Marken sat in a chair on the dais in his court. Cyrus and his thanes stood before him in a line. “I will offer you five thousand gold Sudhraian flourentimes for the slave Sienne.” “It is a fortune you offer.” Cyrus shrugged. “But she is my best, Lord Marken. She is not for sale.” Marken sat forward, his hands fisting. “Everything is for sale to a man like you.” He bit his tongue and sat back. He needed to gain hold of his temper; Cyrus could suspect nothing was amiss. Marken was not good at dissembling. “You are correct about her being your best. She pleasures me like none other. I offer ten thousand.” Cyrus flinched. “Ten thousand? I could not make that sum from her if I worked her day and night for the rest of her life.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But, still…no.” “Thirteen thousand for her freedom, Cyrus.” The thanes gasped and murmured. One of them pulled Cyrus aside and spoke in his ear. Cyrus turned to Marken. “Fine, you can have my best slave for thirteen thousand, my lord.” Marken motioned to one of his accountants who stood near the door. “See to it,” Marken commanded. “I want her papers now.” Cyrus laughed. “You are so eager, my lord. I should have sampled Sienne’s wares more often to discover why she is worth so much.” Marken stood, anger infusing him from head to toe. “ Now.” From across the room, Talyn shot him a look of warning. Marken had taken both Talyn and Haeffen aside before meeting with Cyrus and

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discussed the current situation with them. Cyrus stepped forward. “Upon our departure would be more—” “Now!” roared Marken. Haeffen climbed the stairs of the dais and laid a hand to his forearm. “My lord,” his advisor said into his ear. “You are highly volatile. For Sienne’s own safety, I bid you to desist.” Marken nodded once and tried to soften his facial features, which he knew had grown hard. “You are correct as usual, Haeffen.” Haeffen released his arm and went back to his place by the side of the dais, along with Marken’s other advisors. Marken sank back into his seat. “Forgive my show of temper, Cyrus. The winter has been long, and I’m afraid we suffer from a bit of spring-tide sickness here and are easily upset.” Cyrus bowed deep. “Totally understandable, my lord. Tonight at the evening meal, I will have Sienne’s papers for you. Perhaps we might also talk of the trade routes we discussed in autumn-tide.” Marken forced a friendly smile. “Perhaps.” He stood, ready to take his leave. “You and your soldiers and thanes are welcome in my castle until the day after the morrow. Until then you may engage in play here if the women so desire.” Marken stabbed Cyrus with his hard gaze. “However, if I hear of any woman so much as sustaining a scratch from one of your men, I will take her pain out upon your flesh ten-fold with my blade. Do I make myself understood?” “Completely, my lord. When in Nordan, do as the Nordanese.” “Now, if you will excuse me, I have things to attend to,” said Marken in dismissal. “My lord.” Cyrus and his thanes all bowed as Marken left the court. Marken took the steps to his chamber two at a time. He reached his door and flung it open. Sienne jumped up from her sitting position on the end of the bed and screamed. Tear stains tracked her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” Marken asked he approached her. She shook her head and swiped at her cheeks. “Nothing. It’s nothing. It is simply having Cyrus so near, I think.” He tipped her head back to take a closer look at the blood that stained the skin of her throat. “What is that?” Sienne slapped her hand over the small cut. “Nothing. I tripped and fell against the fireplace mantle and nicked myself.” He glanced at the mantle. Indeed, it was at an equal level with her throat. He sat beside her and forced her hand from the gash. Gently, he used his sleeve to wipe the blood away. “Everything you suffer is nothing, isn’t it, little one? You do not think of yourself even so highly as to allow yourself pain.”

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She said nothing, only stared straight ahead. “I have purchased your freedom, Sienne. It took thirteen thousand Sudhraian flourentimes, but it’s done.” That drew a reaction from her. She turned and stared at him. “But, that’s a fortune!” “Aye, and you’re worth every coin. I will have your papers of slavery at the evening meal. I will burn them shortly after.” He squeezed her hand. “We will do it together if you wish.” Sienne was rendered speechless. Marken helped her to stand. “Now you will see the castle physician about your throat, then retreat to your rooms and do not leave them,” Marken commanded. “But, I must talk with you.” He kissed her quickly and moved her toward the door. “I know, and I wish to speak with you as well. However, I must meet with my captain and my advisors now to discuss this situation with Sudhra and Cyrus’s presence here in Nordan. This night, after the evening meal, I will come to your chambers. We will talk then. Go now.” Sienne felt drained and stunned by the events unfolding around her. She could do little more than obey at this point. “Yes, my lord.”

Chapter Seven

Marken took a deep drink of his wine, eyeing Cyrus who sat across the table from him. Cyrus had presented him with Sienne’s papers at the beginning of the meal and Haeffen had borne them away to be stored safely until Marken could destroy them. “We’ve always enjoyed a good relation, Sudhra to Nordan, haven’t we, Marken?” Cyrus cracked the bone of a pharing bird between his teeth and spit a bit of tendon onto the table. Marken took another long draught of wine. After viewing Cyrus’s table manners, hunger had fled him in a rush. “I would like to continue those good relations by opening more trade routes with our allies to the north,” continued Cyrus around a mouthful. “We have a need of Nordanese textiles as you have a need of Sudhraian minerals.” Cyrus tipped his wine goblet to Marken before taking a swig. “We could make many flourentimes, you and I.” Marken stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. He dropped his

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head and examined a wine stain on the wooden table. And perhaps they’d be at war come the spring or summer-tide, too. Marken anticipated with relish meeting Cyrus on a battlefield. The energy of the room shifted, then sighed. Marken could feel a change all around him even as Cyrus prattled on in his lies about good relations between their countries, while he planned nothing but war. A peace filled his mind and he raised his head to see Sienne enter the room from the opposite side. She wore a long white gown that billowed behind her as she approached the dais. It shifted over her body and provided tantalizing glimpses when she moved right. It made her look like one of the Goddess’s own celestial guardians. Her gaze no longer downcast, she held her head high and surveyed the dining chamber like a queen. She’d come far in her confidence since the early winter. Pride swelled in Marken as he watched her cross the rush-strewn floor toward him. Even though she’d disobeyed him.

*****

Sienne approached the dais and climbed the stairs. Marken rose and went to her. Speaking near her ear, he whispered angrily, “I told you I didn’t want Cyrus’s gaze upon you! I told you to stay in your chambers!” “I will not allow Cyrus so much power over me, my lord,” she replied sweetly. Also, she wanted to bask in Marken’s love just for a short while longer. Before she met Cyrus at midnight and probably lost her life. Marken made a low sound of frustration and pulled a chair from the table so she could sit. Cyrus’s poisoned gaze rested upon her. She met his brown eyes evenly. Beside her Marken looked as if he wanted to reach across the table and pull Cyrus’s eyes from his head. But to make a move of violence toward Cyrus for no seeming provocation would cause all Cyrus’s thanes and soldiers to draw arms. Sienne was sure Marken didn’t want that…yet. Cyrus pounded once on the table, causing Sienne to jump. “Where are the comely women to service me , Lord Marken?” He leered at Sienne. “Perhaps you could loan me yours for the evening.” Cyrus reached across the table to touch her arm. Marken drew the dagger from its sheath at his waist, and stabbed it into the table, right between two of Cyrus’s fingers. “You will not touch her,” he growled. Cyrus snatched his hand back and the entire room went still. “Alright, my lord,” said Cyrus, “I won’t press your hospitality.” Marken pulled the blade from the table. “Good,” he bit off and sat down. He left the blade on the table between them.

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Sienne looked worriedly from Marken to Cyrus. It was clear Marken was not good at playing at diplomacy. She placed a hand to his upper thigh in an effort to calm him. Ilyanna approached the table and put her hand to Cyrus’s shoulder. “ Iwill entertain you, Lord Cyrus,” she said in a throaty voice, while staring at Marken. “Ah, finally a wench worthy of my attentions!” He began to draw her down into his lap, but Ilyanna resisted. “No, my lord. Let us go away. I believe my Lord Marken would prefer it,” she purred. Cyrus grunted and stood. Before following Ilyanna away from the table, he bowed deeply. “I will give Marken what he desires…for now.” Sienne watched Marken’s jaw lock as Cyrus left the table. Undisguised animosity rolled off of him. “ Whydid you disobey me?” Marken asked without meeting her gaze. His took a long drink of his wine, his throat working. Sienne rubbed his thigh again and found his length beneath his trews. Despite his anger, he hardened beneath her touch. “I am a free woman now, my lord. I wanted to be free in front Cyrus at least once before you crush him and his thanes into dust.” She glanced around the dining hall at the men and women engaging in play. “Look around my lord, the castle is acting normally, giving no special heed to Cyrus and his men. I do not wish to allow them to alter my behavior either.” She lowered her gaze and looked up at him through her lashes. “And I did not wish to be apart from you.” She tipped her face up, hoping he’d take the hint. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Under her fingers, his length grew harder. “Take off your gown and come sit on my lap, Sienne.” There was undeniable heat in his voice. “I can tell you are aroused. Your delicious nipples are poking through the material of your gown.” She smiled. “It is because of your kiss, my lord.” “Come to me and let me touch you. Show this room and Cyrus’s men that you are mine and mine alone.” She glanced around at the men and women in the hall. There was a threesome two tables away. A man knelt between a woman’s thighs, laving and sucking at her clit while another man suckled one of her erect nipples while stroking his own member. She bit her lip. Never had she allowed Marken this, though he asked her repeatedly. “Come to me, Sienne,” Marken commanded again. She hesitated, then relented, knowing this might be her last opportunity to join with him. She drew her gown over her head and shifted herself onto his lap. He was hard as a rock against her bare buttocks. His fingers found her mound and stroked over it. He put his mouth to her ear and traced the whorls with

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the very tip of his tongue and sucked on her ear lobe. His voice when he spoke was a low, silken snare. “Let me pet you, Sienne. Let me play with you…in you.” She shuddered with pleasure. “Let me work you with my fingers. I want to make you peak.” He slid a finger between her wedded thighs and rubbed her clit. She thrust her head back, stabbing her breasts into the air. She had no doubt he would. “Good girl,” he crooned. “It gladdens me that you allow this. I cannot tell you how much it excites me,” he growled. He cupped her breasts and pinched the nipples. They hardened instantly and he explored their ridges and valleys with his fingertips. Then he dropped his hand to part her legs, urging her to hook her feet around his calves to ensure her thighs were spread as far as they could go. He drew one hand through her patch of fiery hair to the sweetness below. He slipped two fingers within and thrust. She threw her head back on a moan. “You like that, little one? You want me to make you peak in front of all these people?” he whispered next to her ear. His fingers delved deep, finding that place deep within her and stroking it over and over it without mercy. She arched her back, her swollen nipples begging for his touch. His fingers darted in and out of her, faster and faster. He didn’t touch her clit. Sienne knew it was on purpose. He wanted to make her last longer before she released herself. She writhed on his lap, rubbing her buttocks against his erection and gripping the table in front of her. With a growl, he stood, catching her in his arms and laying her onto the table so her legs dangled over the side. She moaned and spread her legs. He undid his belt, dropped his trews, and sunk himself into her to the base of his phallus. He threw his head back and let a groan escape his lips. “Goddess, you are sweet,” he said through gritted teeth. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her to the edge of the table and thrust in and out of her. Sienne gripped the edge of the table and let him plunge into her. Always, he filled her completely, almost impossibly so. She would never tire of his cock. With every thrust, the exquisite friction sent waves of pleasure rippling up her spine. With a cry, she peaked. Marken didn’t even pause. He relentlessly thrust into her, drawing her beyond her first peak and straight into her second. With a strangled cry he buried himself deep within her and released his seed. After a dazed moment, he lowered himself onto her and she wound her arms around him, holding on as if she never intended to let him go.

*****

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Sienne closed the door of her chamber while balancing a candleholder in one hand. A sheathed dagger rubbed the flesh of her hip, where she’d tucked it into the pair of trews she’d donned, and hidden it beneath one of Marken’s tunics. The tunic smelled of him—soap and spice—and comforted her. Although it was far too big. It hung to her knees and the sleeves hung past her wrists. Shivering against a draft that swept down the corridor, Sienne steadied herself and made her way toward Cyrus’s chamber. It had been difficult telling Marken she had not wanted to spend the night in his bed. In reality it was the only place she wanted to be—especially now, when the chill of the castle and of her impending meeting penetrated her skin and bit into her bones. She’d even forgone the burning of her contract, telling Marken she felt ill and simply wanted to sleep. In truth, she had no wish to see the thing again, even if it was to burn it. Sienne trusted Marken to do that. She turned a corner, padded silently down a flight of stairs, and all too soon found herself in front of Cyrus’s door. She drew a breath and knocked once. “Enter.” As the door opened, she saw Cyrus standing with his back to her, one hand braced against the mantle. Firelight licked up his body and cast long shadows on the stone floor. “Come in, Sienne,” came his low voice. “Close the door behind you.” She stepped into the room and set the candleholder on a nearby table. Her hand touched the dagger under her tunic, reminding her that it was there should she need it. Hope surged into her as she glanced around the room. The bastard was alone. Did he so underestimate her? Perhaps she had an opportunity here after all. “Sit,” Cyrus ordered. “I prefer to stand,” she replied in a quivering voice. Movement caught the corner of her eye, startling her. Tied to the bed was a woman with long black hair, cowering into the pillows. Her long tangled hair hung in her face, giving her a feral look. She wore a scrap of a tan gown, only enough to hide her breasts and mound. Cyrus turned and Sienne gave him her full attention. It would not do to become distracted now. She played with the edge of her tunic, ready to lift it and grab the dagger should she need it. Backlit by the fire, Cyrus’s face was dark. Sienne’s stomach knotted. Still, she didn’t know what she would do. She knew only that she could not give Cyrus what he wanted. “You may not be my possession any longer, but you will still obey me,” he said. She lifted her chin a degree and forced her lower lip to stop trembling. “I shall not. I am here because you bade me meet you and I decided to oblige you. Nothing more.” He walked toward her. Every step echoed through the room. Sienne resisted the urge to turn and flee.

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Every memory she had of this man rose up like bile within her. She nearly choked on the foul taste. Out of the corner of her eye, the wild girl moved. Here was another innocent—another woman to be subjugated and forced into sexual servitude. Another woman whose life Cyrus would ruin. Sudden, hot hatred for Cyrus coursed through her, made her light-headed. He stopped in front of her. She could smell stale bread and wine on his breath. “It was so simple to convince to you to come here and give up your knowledge.” He reached out and ran a finger down the side of her face. “All I had to do was threaten the man you’ve fallen in love with. I knew always knew love could be a powerful weapon. I just didn’t know how powerful. I’ll have to remember that for the future.” Cyrus rubbed her lower lip with the flat of his thumb. Sienne bit him. Cyrus ripped his hand away and yelled. He stalked toward her, and his fist arced as he tried to punch her in the stomach. Sienne jumped back, snaking her hand beneath her tunic and pulling her blade out in one smooth movement. She didn’t analyze her action; hatred and fear were like a fine wine in her blood, making her drunk. She held the dagger out in front of her. The firelight glinted along its edge. The girl on the bed screamed like a wild animal then fell silent. Everything fell silent. After a tense moment, Cyrus let out a harsh bark of laughter. “My,” he said, “how you’ve changed. I do believe I like you better this way, Sienne. I wonder what you’d be like to bed now.” “You’ll only be able to wonder, Cyrus, because if you ever bed me again they’ll name you a lover of necrophilia.” Cyrus held out a hand, palm forward. “Sit, Sienne. Peace. I want what’s in your head. That’s all. Give it up to me freely and I’ll let you live, your foster family live, and your lover live.” She had a bargaining chip here. Cyrus didn’t know she’d come here with no intention of giving up her knowledge. “I do have information. I gleaned much. But I want one more thing, Cyrus.” “What?” Sienne jerked her head toward the bed. “That girl’s freedom.” Cyrus laughed again, but this time it was not in mirth, it was in anger and impatience. “She’s my new favorite, Sienne. I’m calling her Raven. She’s a special one, caught in the woods of Nordan, to the far north of here. She’s a real wild child.” He shook his head. “You can’t have her.” Sienne turned and went toward the door. “Fine, then you don’t get any of what I have.” His hand closed around her shoulder. The anger and fear coursing through her flared. Images of all he’d done to her in the past rose up, flashing through her mind in a moment of clear pain and clarity. Without thinking, Sienne pivoted on her heel, slashing out with her dagger. The tip of it sliced through tender flesh and warm blood spurted, ran over her hand.

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In the glow of the firelight, Cyrus looked surprised. He gurgled, gripped his throat and fell backward. Raven screamed again long and loud, sounding remarkably like her namesake. Sienne dropped the dagger and it clattered to the floor. Cyrus’s blood felt sticky on her skin. Sienne ran to the side of the bed and promptly lost her dinner on the floor. She held onto the bedpost and pressed her cheek against it, drawing shallow breaths until she thought she could stand on her own two feet unaided again. The door burst open and Sienne whirled, afraid to find Cyrus’s men drawn by Raven’s screams. Instead, a portion of Marken’s guard stood there, with swords unsheathed and raised. Talyn stepped forward. He glanced at her and then at Cyrus. “Your handiwork, my lady?” She nodded shakily and fisted the edge of Marken’s tunic in her hand. His eyes glittered in the firelight. “Lord Marken told us war would soon come to Nordan.” His full lips curved. “I did not think it to come this night.” Sienne turned and dry heaved. Good God of Sudhra . With one swipe of her hand she’d ensured war and the death of thousands. They’d fight tonight—Cyrus’s thanes and Marken’s men. In the end, no matter who was the victor, word would travel back to Sudhra and troops would march forth. All chance of diplomacy was gone. She looked down at her bloodstained hand—all because of her. Behind her, she could hear people entering the room and leaving, commotion, voices, yelling…battle beginning. Talyn rubbed her back and she straightened. “Are you all right?” he asked. She nodded. Talyn moved to the edge of the bed. Outside in the corridor, chaos was breaking loose. Raven whimpered and pressed herself into the pillows. Talyn shushed her and broke her bonds with his sword tip. The half-naked woman scrambled across the bed to the closed window on the opposite side of the chamber. Clawing at it as though she had no idea how to open it, she finally freed the clasp. Cold air rushed into the room and Raven hoisted herself up onto the sill. “No!” yelled Sienne and Talyn in unison. They were five flights of stairs from the ground. She would dash herself on the cobblestone below in her escape attempt. Talyn rushed to the window and pulled the woman down. She clawed at his face and he restrained her by pinning her arms behind her back. Sienne crossed the room and took a closer look at the woman. Gently, she smoothed her hair away from her face, revealing green eyes edged in gold. “Where do you come from?” Sienne asked first in Nordanese, then in Sudhraian. She received no response to either language. “Is she simple of mind?” asked Talyn.

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Sienne shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. She is a child of the forests. She doesn’t know our ways. She is an innocent.” She shuddered. “All the worse Cyrus should have her.” “What should we do with her?” “Keep her safe, Talyn. She’ll hurt herself otherwise.” Sienne turned and walked toward the door. The sound of bloodshed was growing ever louder. God help her, but she had to be free of this place. “Where are you going?” asked Talyn. She stopped and half-turned toward him. “Away.” “What should I tell my lord? He will miss you.” Sienne swallowed the lump in her throat. “Tell him I’m sorry.” She turned and walked out the door.

Chapter Eight

Marken battled his way down a staircase, sending Cyrus’s thanes to the ground with every slash of his broadsword. Word had traveled through the castle like a tinder fire. Sienne had murdered Cyrus in his chamber at midnight while he’d been unarmed. It had provoked Cyrus’s thanes to battle, though it was a battle they were quickly losing. The morning light would see every one of Cyrus’s men that did not flee cut down. Indeed, most already lay dying. The Sudhraian assumed the Nordanese weak. They were fast finding out how dangerous such misconceptions could be. Cold fear ripped through Marken as he battled his way down the stairs, growing closer to Cyrus’s chamber. Where was Sienne now? Was she injured? Dying? No one seemed to know. He rounded a corner and met an oncoming Sudhraian soldier. Marken brought his sword up and thrust straight into the man’s gut before he could land a blow. Another man came toward him, his face in shadow. Marken pulled his blade free of the first man, turned and raised his sword for yet another blow. “My lord!” came a familiar voice. Marken lowered his weapon. “Talyn.” “We’ve got these dogs on the run, do we not?”

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“Aye, indeed we do. Have you seen Sienne?” “Yes, my lord. She left the castle nigh an hour ago.” Fear rippled through him. There were escaping Sudhraian soldiers out there! She would be in the midst of them. “What?” “She said to tell you she was sorry and she left.” “By the Goddess’s eyes! Do you know which way she went?” “I’m sorry, my lord. I do not.” “Do you know if she went on foot or by horse?” “I apologize,” replied Talyn. Marken swore under his breath and pushed past him, heading for the stables. He mowed down every unlucky Sudhraian in his way without preamble. He found a horse and mounted, digging his heels into the beast’s sides as soon he was free of the building. The horse jolted forward and moved quickly from a gallop to a flat-out run. He was grateful for the full moon shining on mother Aran this early morning. The moon’s light reflected on the remaining snow and created a glow bright enough to ride by. He had no idea why she’d chosen to leave him. Perhaps now that she was free of Cyrus she’d decided to go. Apparently he did not rank on her list of people to whom to say goodbye. Marken’s gut twisted. Had she feigned the last three months? Had she only acted as though she cared about him in order to get the information she needed from him? She’d never answered him when he’d asked her if she loved him back. Marken compelled the horse to a faster pace with an angry yell as he led the beast onto a path through the forests. To the south lay Sudhra. Marken knew she would not have traveled in that direction. Even if it were her final destination, she would not have traveled directly into the country via that route. It was far too dangerous. To the west lay the wastes of Harmsdell and the wide, violent Nordan River. To the north lay the unending, unforgiving forests and colder weather. Nay…there was only one direction for Sienne to travel in—east toward the tiny country of Laren’tar. It would have been the way Sienne would’ve traveled had she chosen to leave the day he set her free at the beginning of winter. Marken pushed his horse to a faster speed. She had an hour’s lead on him, but eventually he’d catch up to her. Goddess help her when he did.

*****

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Sienne picked her way over a log and caught the edge of her cloak on a tree limb. The branch snapped and echoed through the dark, quiet forest. Somewhere an owl hooted and Sienne shivered. She would’ve liked to have left after the sun had risen, but she had not that luxury. She’d brought war to Nordan. The angel of death could not linger until dawn. She must travel by darkness. Through her doings, her temper, many would die. She was not fit company for Marken, not worthy of his attention, his touch…certainly not his love. Nay…she was good only to banish herself and should death find her, then so be it. She skirted a clump of elderberry bushes and finally found what she sought—the road to Laren’tar. A stable hand had told her the way to find it and had offered her a horse. Sienne had refused the beast. How could she steal one of Marken’s horses after she’d condemned his people to war? He’d need every last steed to prevent the Sudhraian from dominating his people. The stable hand had forced her to wait while he brought her good warm boots, a cloak, and other items to protect her from the cold, as well as a sack containing some dried meats, cheeses, and a bit of fruit. He’d also given her a small pan and tinderbox, telling her she could heat bits of leftover snow over a fire to drink. The stable hand had shaken his head at her and sighed. He obviously thought her hideously stupid for venturing out into the Nordan wild lands so late and without much to protect her. In shock over killing Cyrus, she’d simply wandered into the forest, searching for the road to Laren’tar. The cold was starting to bring Sienne out of her stunned state now, however. If it hadn’t been for the stable hand, she would have gone with only the clothes on her back. If she’d done that, she’d probably be well on her way to dead already…not that it mattered. Sienne tripped over a rock and sat straight down on her backside on the cold dirt road. She understood the futility of her journey. It was impossible she’d make it to Laren’tar—not on foot. She struggled to her feet, leaving her satchel on the ground, and brushed the dirt from her clothing. Something rustled in the bushes beside her, distracting her for a moment. The sound of pounding hooves grew loud in her ears. She straightened and whirled. A huge black warhorse bore down on her. Moonlight caught in Marken’s loose black hair and reflected the hard, merciless edges of his face. He wore all black, his sword glinting silver at his side. Sienne could scarcely tell where the horse’s flank ended and Marken’s clothing began. They seemed one dark, dangerous beast. Sienne darted into the forest at the side of the road. Behind her she heard Marken call for the horse to halt. The beast whinnied. After a moment, the sound of branches and leaves crunching underneath hooves filled the air as Marken urged the horse into the forest after her. She didn’t risk a look behind her. She simply ran. Branches caught at her clothing and ripped. They broke off in her hair, tangling it, and ripped at the exposed flesh of her cheek. A thorn caught the edge of her mouth and the warm, coppery taste of blood flavored her tongue. Sienne found a path and took it, trying to avoid the vicious trees that seemed to be in league against her. She ran until her lungs felt nigh onto bursting. She tripped over a log and went sprawling. She lay stunned for a moment, trying to draw air into her starved air passageways.

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The sounds of pounding hooves were upon her. She rose to her knees and tried to stand and fell back to her knees. Behind her, Marken halted the horse and simply watched. Sienne did not look at him, though she could feel his gaze on her. At any moment he could reach down and catch her up. She knew it well. It was at his pleasure she was free now. She took a deep breath and stood, launching herself into another run. All was silent behind her and for a moment Sienne thought he’d given up on her. Then the pounding hooves resumed. They grew louder and louder until he rode beside her. An arm made of steel and muscle snaked out and wrapped around her waist. Sienne let out an outraged yell. Marken pulled her up easily so she lay stomach down in front of him on the saddle-less mount. “My lord—” “Quiet!” Marken barked. “Slaves do not speak until spoken to. You will do as I say from now on.” His hand strayed to her buttocks and caressed. His voice lowered. “ EverythingI say. Like the good little sex slave you are. Did you forget I held your papers? They have not been burned.” Sienne’s eyes pricked with tears at the tone of his voice. Dark and cold, it reached into her body and touched her heart with hurt. He knew she’d killed Cyrus. He knew she’d brought war to his people…and he hated her for it. He traveled back to the castle at a flat-out run. Once in the stables, he pulled her from the horse and forced her hands behind her back. There he wedded and held her wrists, gently but firmly in one large hand. The stable hand who’d gifted her with the provisions stared at her with dull eyes. “Go find someone to fill the bathtub in my chambers and light a fire,” he ordered the man. “Yes, my lord,” he replied and ran off. He led her out of the stables and toward the castle without a word. In the inner bailey stood Talyn barking orders to his men. Sienne watched the captain do a double take when he saw them. “My lord,” he called and walked to them. “Talyn,” replied Marken. “I am sorry I did not stay until the end of the battle. I had urgent business to attend to, and knew you could handle the problem of the Sudhraian thanes and soldiers without my aid.” Talyn wore a wary look on his face. His gaze flicked back and forth between herself and Marken. Her face was probably white with strain and Marken still held her wrists captive. “My lord. It was easily done,” Talyn answered. “Although some of them escaped. They will be traveling to Sudhra to tell of the happenings here, and we can expect war for certain.” Sienne let a sob escape her lips and Talyn looked at her sharply. “My lady, are you well?” he asked. “She is fine, Talyn, and not allowed to speak.” Sienne dropped her gaze to Talyn’s booted feet. Blood stained them, she noted dully. The moon illumed the dark patches spotting his clothing.

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“Are you alright, my lord?” Unease threaded through Talyn’s tone. “I am fine,” Marken replied tersely. “We are retiring to my chamber.” Talyn cleared his throat. “Very well, my lord. Then I should not worry about my lady?” “I would never harm a woman, Talyn. Especially not one I love. Even if she has no love for me in return.” Sienne’s head shot up at that and she found Marken’s gaze. Didn’t he know she loved him too? It was why she had to leave now and never see him again! She opened her mouth to say as much. “Shush, Sienne,” he ordered harshly. “I did not bade you speak.” She closed her mouth. Marken pulled her past Talyn and into the castle. He did not utter a word as he dragged her up the stairs and down the corridor toward his chamber. The door to his room stood open and servant boys went in and out, dragging buckets of water into the room. Marken forced her to sit in a chair by the roaring fire while the servants finished filling the bathtub. When the last servant had left, Marken turned to her. “Disrobe, but do not utter a word.” Sienne stood and layer-by-layer unwrapped herself until she stood only in her trews and tunic. The clothing was stained with Cyrus’s blood. Marken stood beside the bathtub. With every bit of clothing that dropped to the ground, his eyes grew darker. His face was a harsh mask. Sienne shivered. She did not know this man who stood before her. All of the Marken she knew and had grown to love had fled. “Take off that clothing, take off your boots, and walk to me,” he commanded. His eyes flashed dangerously. The material felt soft against her skin as she pulled it over her head. Her hair fell to her waist in a heavy mass of glinting curls. She let the clothing drop to the floor and toed off the traveling boots. Completely naked, she crossed the floor toward him. His heated gaze took her in from head to foot. “My lord,” she began. He held up a hand. “Do not speak.” “But—” “No.” Marken turned and went to a drawer by the side of his bed. From it he pulled long strips of material. Some he dropped on the mattress, one he brought to her and secured over her mouth as a gag. “I do not want to hear your lies any longer. I want you to listen and do I as command. Nothing more, nothing less. I want no explanations from you. I want nothing except your sweet body at my beck and call, wrapped around my shaft when I desire it. Do you understand?” Tears sheened her eyes even as moisture flooded between her legs at his words. God, but nothing could

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make her stop wanting him. She nodded. “Good. Now get into the bathtub and bathe while I watch you.” The water was warm against her flesh as she stepped into the water and sat. It lapped at her waist like a lover’s embrace.

Chapter Nine

She glanced up at Marken. He’d positioned a chair in front of the tub and had one ankle resting on his opposite knee. He’d discarded his broadsword and short sword to the floor beside him, and appeared casual sitting there. But the look on his face and in his eyes betrayed him. Lust shown clearly there, blazing as bright as the fire across the room—mixed with his anger. It was a volatile combination. But the lust…maybe she had some control here after all, she thought as she lowered her eyes. Cupping her hands she trickled water over her body, letting it stream between her breasts and down her stomach. She picked up the cake of soap and lathered it between her hands, then rubbed her arms slowly. She kept her eyes on him and noted every shift he made in his chair. She put her hands to her breasts and began to rub. Marken uncrossed his legs and sat forward, his gaze intent. She palmed her breasts and cupped them, running her fingers over her erect nipples. Sienne closed her eyes and imagined Marken a week ago. She imagined his hands on her, finding all the sensitive hills and valleys of her body. She pulled at her nipples, imagining his mouth at her breasts—his teeth nipping at her. Sienne tipped her head back and arched her back. Thus gagged, she could not voice her pleasure, but it was there in her body language. She felt water trickle over her breasts and her eyes flew open. With cupped hands, Marken cleansed away the soap. He bathed the scratches on her face made from her run through the forest with gentleness at odds with his anger. He took her by the wrist and tugged, forcing her to stand. Wrapping her in a towel, he dried her body thoroughly, his fingers slipping between her legs and finding her pussy and running over it with his fingertips. His thumbs found her sensitized nipples and rubbed. She closed her eyes and drew a sharp breath in through her nose. He put his mouth next to her ear and murmured, “After tonight you will know to whom you belong Sienne—your body and your mind.” Her eyes flew open. “After tonight you’ll know just how displeased I was that you ran from me. Believe me, I’ll make you pay for keeping up the pretense of caring about me for the last three months.” His words disconcerted her, even though his hands played upon her body like it was a musical instrument. He lifted her from the bathtub and set her to her feet on the plush carpeting. Then he led her

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to the bed. “Take the towel from you and lay down,” he commanded. She dropped the towel and her flesh pebbled in the chill air. Her gaze holding his, she crawled onto the bed and lay down on her back. He took the two of the remaining pieces of fabric and did what she expected him to do. He looped them around the bedposts and then around her wrists. It reminded her of the time she’d done this to him. She twisted her wrists and the fabric tightened. It was not painful, but she was caught, unable to free herself. Another he placed over her eyes and secured at the back of her head. Her breathing grew shallow with fear and she made a conscious effort to steady herself. She trusted him. She trusted him….didn’t she? She hadn’t trusted him enough to reveal her secrets, had she? The realization struck her hard. All was quiet for several long moments. The gentle sound of clothing falling to the floor in a heap reached her ears. A breeze swept over her skin and she shivered. She could feel him standing next to the bed even though she couldn’t see him. His heat radiated out. “Such a beautiful woman you are, Sienne,” he said softly. “Too bad you’re so treacherous.” The pain in his voice made tears well in her eyes. She wanted to tell him why she’d left—why she could not stay here any longer with him. His hand reached out and grazed the inside of her thigh. The mattress indented on her right side as he climbed onto the bed and centered himself between her legs. His hand stroked her, starting at her thatch of hair and brushing down. She flinched. “Shhhh….Sienne, you know I won’t hurt you.” Sienne knew why he was doing this. He needed to feel in control of her because he was not able to control his emotions. By binding her and proclaiming mastery over her body, he regained a measure of the power he’d felt he’d lost by loving her…and being hurt by her. He drew his hands over her shoulders feather-light, trailing them down over her breasts and stomach, down the length of her legs and then back up. His fingers grazed her sex, but did not linger there. Instead, he continued drawing his large, strong hands over her body, as if memorizing every hill and valley of her—as if he worshipped her very skin. Every inch of her skin felt sensitized, and Sienne grew wet. She writhed in her bonds, wanting more of his hands on her. Wanting his hands on her breasts, between her legs. Still, he continued his gentle torment. He dropped a hand to her pussy and ran his fingers over her. He made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat. “Even my lightest touch elicits a sexual response from you,” he said. That was his point, she knew. “You like this, don’t you, Sienne?” he purred. “You enjoy being completely at my mercy. I can do anything I desire to your sweet body now, and you can do nothing to stop me.”

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He shifted and his warm breath brushed over her sex. Sienne had to stop herself from trying to thrust her hips forward toward his mouth. She wished it were not true! She wished he didn’t affect her the way he did. Even his breath on her skin made her want him. Over the last three months he’d trained her to be responsive to his slightest movement. Marken’s tongue touched the skin just under her ear and she flinched at the sensation of the hot tip of it running over her collarbones and then lower, between her breasts, down her stomach. Sienne wiggled and emitted a muffled moan. He drew his tongue down her skin agonizingly slowly, dipping it into her bellybutton and continuing lower, over her pelvis and down to her inner thigh. Marken kissed the crease where her leg and pelvis met, and Sienne’s clit pulsed. He ran his tongue along her skin, leaving tiny, hot kisses along the way…headed straight for her core. He licked her pussy lips and let his tongue twirl around her clit before drawing his tongue back down to the opening of her passage. He groaned low in his throat. “You taste so good, Sienne. You always have. I’ll never grow tired of your flavor.” He returned to teasing her with his tongue. It slipped within her and she drew a sharp breath in through her nostrils. He thrust his tongue in and out of her, but did not touch her clit. She’d come to know Marken well enough that she knew he did not intend to bring her peak now. Oh, no . Slow torture would be the punishment for her transgression. She writhed at the feel of his hot, slick tongue exploring her passage and delving out once in a while to lick her folds. If she hadn’t been gagged, Sienne knew she would be moaning with abandon. Instead, she made muffled noises of pleasure. Marken drew his tongue up to her clit and flicked at it with his tongue. He teased it with the tip and then stopped, then teased it again—keeping her on the edge of her peak. His touch was just enough to keep her unbelievably excited, but the pressure was not steady enough to push her over the edge. “I don’t want you to come yet. Do you understand? You’ll only come when I say you can,” he said. Marken slipped a finger within and then a second while he laved her clit and Sienne thought she’d go insane. Gently, slowly…so very slowly, he massaged the inner walls of her passage with his fingers while he continued the torment with his tongue. He added his teeth to the mix and lightly nibbled at her clit. Sienne tensed to peak…and he was gone. She made a sound of frustration in her throat and pulled at her bonds, her heels digging into the mattress. She remembered how easily Marken had broken his when she’d tied him with rope. She could not hope to rip even these flimsy fabric restraints. She heard movement at the side of the bed. “Your lips are cherry red and engorged. Your clit is ready for my mouth again and I can tell all you want in the world is my cock inside you, to give you ease. Is it true, Sienne? Nod your head if it is.” Sienne nodded.

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He leaned over her and whispered in her ear. “Know that this is how I felt when you left me. I loved you. I love you still. I never felt that way before I met you, just as your body never knew pleasure before you came to me. You left me wanting. You left me knowing that you were the only one who could fill me up. Just as I am the only who can fill you now.” Hot tears stung her eyes at his words. She’d made a mistake. She knew that now. She’d always professed to trust Marken, but still, she had not told him of her meeting with Cyrus. She had not told him of the threat Ramdan had made against him. She’d chosen to stand on her own…mostly because she’d always had to stand on her own. She’d had no other choice. A cool breeze rushed over her and she knew he was gone. Tears soaked the blindfold she wore and trickled from the corners of her eyes. She heard Marken across the chamber laying more wood on the fire. The scent of fresh burning branches reached her nostrils. It reminded her of the first morning she’d been at the castle, waking up to find Marken standing across the room dressed in black from head to toe. He’d been there to teach her to have pleasure and she accidentally taught him to love in return. As he’d also taught her to love and, finally, to trust. A fresh sob ripped through her, muffled by the gag, and Marken was there on the bed between her legs. She’d not expected him to respond to her pain. His body heat radiated out and warmed her breasts. His mouth went to one of her breasts and his hard chest braced against hers. He took her hardened nipple into his warm mouth and sucked on it as if it was a hard sugar candy. The tip of his shaft brushed her core and slid up to her clit. Idly, he circled it with its rigid tip and Sienne spread her legs as far as she was able. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Marken lifted his head from her breast. “Don’t cry, Sienne. Goddess, I can’t stand it when you cry. Even now it tears at me.” He reached up untied her blindfold and her gag. She let out a sigh that racked her body and blinked against the firelight. Marken’s concerned face came into focus. A fat teardrop trailed down her cheek and Marken caught it on his fingertip. Then he kissed her cheeks, wiping her tears away with his lips. He moved his hips and the hard length of him ground against her. “Untie me,” she whispered. Marken reached up and released her from her bonds. Sienne’s arms came around his shoulders and she sighed happily at the feel of him. He shifted his hips again, deliberately teasing her. She knew as soon as he entered her, her peak would come like an arrow hitting its target. She caught his gaze and almost smiled at the worried expression on his face. “Make love to me,” she murmured. Marken pushed himself into her slowly, inch by tantalizing inch. Sienne let out a hiss of breath and threw her head back into the pillows, arching her back as best she could with his body against her. He rocked his hips back and forth, thrusting into her with agonizing deliberateness. Bracing one hand on the bed beside her head, he reached his hand down between their bodies and took some of her moisture on his finger to use as lubrication as he circled her clit. Sienne instantly peaked.

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He didn’t stop the pressure. He thrust into her leisurely and kept up the play at her clit. Sweat broke on his brow and Sienne could see the slow pace cost him. Her peak built again under his ministrations. Before she came again, he removed his hand and covered her body with his own. The hard muscle just above the base of his cock kept up the delicious friction against her clit and the position rubbed him deep inside her in just the right place. She moaned and he caught the sound in his mouth. He kissed her, taking his time and exploring the inside of her mouth thoroughly. He pulled away. “You’ve made sex into something more for me, Sienne.” Pain threaded his voice. “You complicated it…but made it better somehow at the same time.” “I do care about you, Marken,” she whispered against his lips. His thrusts faltered. “What did you call me?” The question held a note of amazement. He stiffened. “More lies,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “You think to save yourself by using my name.” “No!” She reached up and threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, angling his head toward hers for a kiss. Still, he kept up the gentle thrusting in and out of her passage. It connected them. Made them one. She kissed him and he pulled away. He rose up, sliding her so the back of her thighs braced on the front of his. At this angle his thrusts grew deeper and harder. She sucked in a breath and grabbed at the blankets on either side of her. “Marken,” she said, finding his gaze. “I was wrong not to trust you. I…I thought I wasn’t worthy of you…so I left.” Marken rotated his hips and increased the speed of his thrusts. He appeared not to hear her. He grabbed her hips and held her as his pace grew in intensity. Sienne tossed her head back and forth as another peak built, pleasure cresting within her to an incredible degree. “You…might care…about me,” Marken finally said through gritted teeth. “But…you admit…you never loved me.” He shifted, driving into her with long hard strokes. Her peak broke over her in a blinding wave, robbing her of all thought save one. “Marken, I love you!” she cried as she came. Her muscles contracted around him. He let out a bellow and his hot seed spurted. He came down on top of her, bracing himself on the bed so he did not crush her. Sienne placed her mouth to his ear. “I love you, Marken. I love you so very much, and I’m sorry I ran from you. I should have trusted you,” she repeated. Marken was still for a long moment, his exerted breathing harsh. Sienne held her breath and waited. She ran her hands down his sweat-slicked sides. Still, she held him within her and she didn’t want to let go. After what seemed like an eternity, he raised his gaze to hers. “Why did you run from me?” he asked. She averted her eyes in her shame. “I killed Cyrus. I brought war to Nordan. Because of me a diplomatic solution will not be found and many Nordanese will die.”

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Marken smiled. “Do you truly believe you caused all that, little one?” “One of Sudhra’s most powerful thanes was murdered unarmed within your walls. That started a battle between your men and Cyrus’s men.” She nodded. “Aye, I did indeed start a war, Marken.” He sighed. “Goddess, but my name sounds sweet coming from your lips.” His dark blue gaze held hers. “War was destined to arrive anyway, Sienne. I feel certain the problems between our nations could not have been solved by diplomacy. I know now how long Sudhra has been planning an invasion. They wish to take our religion from us. It’s a highly charged reason to wage a war. It’s a highly emotional one. Diplomacy would have been tried, it’s true, but it would not have worked.” Sienne closed her eyes as the images of Cyrus slumping to the ground filled her mind. The feel of his hot blood coursing over her hand asserted itself in her recollection. “I killed a man,” she said softly. Marken kissed her cheek and with one hand, smoothed the hair from her face. “I am sorry for that, little one. I would have spared you the pain and killed him for you had I realized what was going on. Why did you go to Cyrus’s chambers in the first place?” “He threatened you.” He rolled to the side and she nearly wept for the loss of him within her. He pushed a hand through his hair in a gesture that screamed frustration. “So…let me understand this correctly. He threatened me and you put yourself in danger?” She nodded. He drew her into his arms so her back was braced against his warm chest, and he feathered the side of her face with kisses. “You did not lie when you said you loved me just now, did you?” She let out a sigh and snuggled against his chest. “No.” His arms tightened around her. “Never… everdo anything like that again. Do you understand me? I can take of myself—especially against such badly trained men as Sudhra produces. Sudhra will soon know the might of Nordan.” His voice had a cold hard edge to it. “How did you kill Cyrus, Sienne?” he asked. “It was the woman tied to his bed, his new slave. After so many of months of life by your side, of knowing how sweet freedom could be, the sight of her drove me to a rage I’d never know I’d had.” “I am sure Cyrus never expected you to act out against him.” She laid a kiss to his forearm, which was nestled between her breasts. “He underestimated me, my love.” “It was a mistake. You are not a woman to be taken for granted. I am sorry I treated you as a slave just now. I am ashamed of myself. I allowed myself to be blinded by my emotions.” Marken gave a sigh and released her. She rolled to her back and watched him slide on a pair of trews, then walk across the room toward the fireplace. She caught the edge of the blanket and pulled it back, then slid down under the covers, reveling in the soft warmth that surrounded her. The rustling of papers drew her attention back to Marken. In his hand he held a sheaf of them, which he

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dropped into the fire. The flames flared up, consuming them, curling the pages and turning them to ash. Sienne knew what they were and sweet pleasure suffused her. She was completely and utterly free now. Even were she to return to Sudhra, she could walk around as a freed citizen. Marken turned from the fire, his long hair brushing over his back and falling loose over his shoulders. He walked toward her on bare feet. She studied the way moved, the muscles of his chest and stomach rippling. He reached the edge of the bed and knelt. Dark blue eyes met hers. “You are free now. You can leave here if you wish it. I will give you as much money as you desire, horses, and men to accompany you to Laren’tar, or even to your foster family’s home in Sudhra. I’m giving you a choice, now, Sienne.” She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “That is one choice. What is the other?” “That you stay here in Nordan with me and become my monogamous mate, forsaking all others. Together we will rule and if you do not produce a child, we will choose one to foster and make our heir.” She bit her lip. He looked so serious, as though he truly thought she would choose the former. She reached out and ran her hand down his face. His stubbled chin scraped her palm. “I wish to stay here with you, Marken.” He sat on the edge of the bed and the lines of his face grew harsh in the firelight. Half his face was in darkness, half in light. “And you promise never to leave me again in such stealth and break my heart? You promise to always trust me with your secrets and never endanger yourself so foolishly again?” She leaned forward and kissed the hardness of his lips until they softened and captured hers. “I promise to stay by your side and trust you always, Marken,” she said against his lips. “I promise to give you my love for the rest of my life.” She smiled. “I can do no other anyway.” His perfect lips curved in a smile. “Good. We have that in common.”

Chapter Ten

Talyn stepped into the corridor outside his chamber and underneath his feet fresh canne-blossom rushes crushed, sending up a sweet, slightly spicy fragrance. Draped along the sconces inset in the stone walls, were boughs of fresh spring flowers interspersed with holly twigs. Marken had resurrected an old tradition and had held a monogamous mating ceremony last night. The castle remained adorned still this morning…well, early afternoon, really. It had been a late night. He shook his head. Marken had done a fine job letting himself become ensnared by one woman. Why ever would a man tie himself to just one woman , when he had all the women in the castle to choose

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from? True, as lord of the castle, Marken was expected to take a mate. But he didn’t have to make the women his monogamous mate. Marken could take her to mate and still have a different flavor every single night without fear of repercussion, as could Sienne. Realization hit him with a dull thud. Goddess…Marken would start a trend! All the women in the castle would begin desiring monogamous mate status and ceremonies to go with it! Talyn turned and headed down the corridor toward the court. His cock would never be so dominated by a single woman. He had no fear of that. No…he’d continue to have his pick. As captain of the castle guard, he was highly sought after and known widely as a generous lover. He had to admit that Marken had never looked so happy as he had last night with Sienne standing beside him. She’d been radiant and smiling. It was the first time Talyn had ever seen her smile. After the ceremony, there had been a large celebration and a feast the likes of which had never seen by the castle. Wine and ale had flowed freely and everyone had laughed and danced into the wee hours of the morning. Talyn had attracted two lusty beauties who’d accompanied him back to his room—a blond, busty woman, and a tall, slender one with long dark hair. A pair matched for contrasts. Their hair had looked so pretty tangled together across his pillows. One had rode his cock while the other straddled his face. All three of them had come together, their cries filling the chamber. Even now the two women slept sated, tucked under the blankets on his bed and the both of them filled near to bursting with his seed. Aye…Marken didn’t know what he’d be missing. “Hold her down!” Sienne’s slightly accented voice reached him from around the corner. “I’m trying, my lady,” called Carrick, sounding winded. “She’s impossible to keep still!” He wondered why Sienne was not still in her joining bed and picked up his pace. Talyn rounded the corner. Sienne stood just inside the doorway of the chamber of the wild woman, Raven. It was a windowless room. He’d thought that a better place to keep her since the woman had shown a fondness for heights. “Can I aid you, my lady?” he asked. Sienne turned to him and instantly relaxed. “Oh, I’m glad you’re here.” She moved to the side to allow him access into the room. Carrick, not a weak man by any stretch of the imagination struggled to hold Raven in his arms as Ryn, the castle physician, tried to brace and hold her legs still. The woman’s hair was tangled and fell over her face. Green-and-gold eyes glowed angrily at him through the tangled mess. She wore a white dress that was ripped in places, no doubt from her current struggles. It was too large for her thin frame and the neckline had slipped down, showing one milky smooth shoulder. The physician raised the hem of her gown, revealing a shapely leg, which sported a long gash crusted with dried blood.

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Sienne came to stand beside him. “She escaped last night and was captured by one of the men as she attempted to climb out one of the tower windows. He pulled her down and restrained her, but she sustained that wound in the process. We have been trying to hold her still to cleanse it. We don’t wish for her to contract an infection.” Talyn rubbed his chin and realized he’d forgotten to shave when stubble abraded his callous hand. “The woman is simple of mind, I’m sure,” he mused aloud. The woman stopped struggling and focused her gaze on him. She spat with exuberance, and Talyn moved just in time to avoid being spattered. “Not…s…simple,” she seethed. Talyn raised an eyebrow. So she spoke Nordanese after all. She began to fight again in earnest when Ryn took the opportunity to place a soapy cloth to her thigh. Carrick swore under his breath, his muscles flexing as he fought to control her. Sienne sighed. “On the contrary, Talyn. It appears she did not speak Nordanese at all when she first arrived. She is teaching herself our tongue slowly—without any outside aid. That means she’s actually incredibly agile of mind.” Talyn took a step toward her and murmured to himself, “She is a mystery, isn’t she?” “Even now Haeffen researches in the archives for some hint of where she may have come from,” replied Sienne. He took another step near her and held out his hand as though trying to tame a wild animal. “Shhhh…I won’t hurt you. No one here will hurt you.” She stilled. Her eyes glowed green and gold and incredibly wary through her tangled hair. Ryn set the cloth to her thigh and she kicked out at him with one slender bare foot. Talyn came closer and set his hand to her shoulder. She made an angry grunting noise at the contact. He caught Carrick’s eyes. “On the count of three, release her and I’ll take her.” “Be my guest,” muttered Carrick. Talyn counted to three and Carrick moved away from her while Talyn spun toward her. He caught her around the waist, pinning her hands to her side. As soon as they made contact, a light vibrational pulse coursed through his body. It stunned him for a moment, but there was no time to wonder at it for the wild woman began to struggle against his grip. “No!” she cried. Her back arched and her feet lifted from the floor, kicking at him. Her heels connected with his shins. Talyn merely held on and let her wear herself out. “Shush,” Talyn said, close to her ear. “Shush now. Calm…calm,” he crooned. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them together behind her back and held them with one hand. The woman made an enraged noise and twisted, but found she couldn’t free herself.

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Talyn pressed her against him and stroked her hair with his free hand, all the while crooning to her, telling her it would alright and that no one meant her harm. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled. She smelled of the forest, of green trees and blue, blue skies. She stilled and leaned back against him. Sienne laughed softly. “You have a way with her, Talyn. Her eyes are closed.” From across the room, Carrick chuckled. “Amazing isn’t it? Women enjoy his touch, it’s true. His hands and voice can even tame the savage beast.” Talyn shot him a sharp look. The woman was not a savage beast—merely misunderstood. He’d been that way himself once…long ago. Ryn placed the cloth to her thigh and cleansed her wound. The woman did not make a sound or a movement. Ryn finished and looked up at him. “Thank you for your help, captain. I despaired of helping the woman. I don’t know what to do with her. We cannot set her free or she’ll kill herself for certain.” Her body went heavy as she slumped against Talyn. He released her wrists and lifted her. Walking across the chamber, he laid her on the bed and pulled the covers over her. Her breathing had the cadence of sleep. He gazed down at her. She looked so innocent and pure. He would not guess her to be such a troublesome hellion while she rested in the realm of dreams. He turned to find Sienne staring at him speculatively. “What?” he asked her. “Nothing.” She turned and Talyn noticed for the first time she wore a cream-colored nightdress made of flax-cloth. Her nipples poked lush pink from under the fabric and her buttocks were just the right size for his hands. He raised an eyebrow and his mouth went dry. But Sienne was forever off limits to him now. Unless he wanted to feel the sharp edge of Marken’s broadsword, that was. All four them walked toward the door. Ryn opened it and they filed out. Ryn and Carrick walked down the corridor together, commiserating about their recent ordeal. Talyn tried not to look at Sienne’s luscious body under her gown and met her eyes instead. “Why are you not in bed with Lord Marken?” “He wanted to come himself, but I thought it best I attend to the girl. I didn’t want such a bear of a man to scare her.” She winked. “It’s my first act as mistress of the castle. I am headed back to bed now, however.” She walked past him. “Have a lovely day, Talyn,” she called back and laughed. The joyous sound of it warmed him. “I know I will.” Talyn watched her retreating form and swallowed hard. Goddess, he hoped she stopped wearing flax-cloth. He walked over to stand at a window and gaze beyond the pane of glass at the rolling hills of Nordan.

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Nearly all the snow had melted and spring had asserted itself over the land. The trees were even beginning to bud and early flowers poked their heads up from Aran’s soil. It was a time of renewal and new beginnings. His gaze shifted to the north and he lapsed into memories of his younger years. He shook his head. Nay…it was not a place to go on such a fine day. Seeing the wild woman had triggered them, but they were best left to history. Instead he looked to the south. War would be coming to Nordan…and soon. Spring-tide would possibly bring death as well as beauty. Clouds gathered in the southern sky, darkening the day. Foreboding gathered around his heart for the future.

Chapter Eleven

Marken pulled Sienne into his arms as soon as she closed the door to their chamber and peppered her face with kisses. He caught her mouth with his and sucked on her lower lip before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers. “You must stop wearing flax-cloth around the men, my love. You are like a piece of candy they can never enjoy,” he said. “It’s cruel.” “There are many women in the castle for them to select from, Marken. I highly doubt they’ll bemoan the loss of me.” He slapped her buttocks lightly. “You have no idea just how desirable you are.” He scooped her up in his arms and she squealed. He crossed the room and threw her down on the bed, then climbed on after her. With a sexy growl deep in his throat, he attacked her throat with his mouth, licking and sucking and biting. Sienne’s eyes fluttered shut under the onslaught and she moaned. Gods, she would never tire of him. Her hands found the tunic he’d had the audacity to don and began pulling it over his head. He pulled away from her and affected a look of shock on his face. His black hair swung around his face, brushing the skin of her upper arms and her nipples through the fabric of her nightdress. “Again?” he asked in feigned surprise. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him toward her for a kiss. “Always,” she murmured against his mouth.

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His hands fumbled for the edge of her nightdress and he ripped it in his efforts to pull it over her head. There went another perfectly good item of clothing—a victim of their passion. Sienne let the gown float to floor, thankful it no longer came between them. He pressed his warm, hard chest to hers and she rubbed against him, reveling in the friction against her sensitive nipples. Marken settled himself between her thighs. “I think I know a way to remove the constant melancholy from Talyn,” she whispered to Marken as he eased himself into her. “Wh…what?” Marken raised his gaze from her breasts to her face. His eyes narrowed. “Why are you thinking about Talyn?” She laughed. “I saw it in his eyes—just a little, just for a fleeting moment—as he stared down at the wild girl.” “Saw what?” She smiled. “Love, Marken. It takes one in it to recognize it in others. Even if it’s just a whisper…a shadow of a possibility for the future.” Marken laughed and shook his head. “No. Talyn would never align himself to a woman the way I’ve done with you. Never. You don’t know him like I do. It’s ridiculous to even consider.” “I don’t know. I know what I saw…oh!” Marken’s thrusts picked up in pace and he rotated his hips, driving all sensible thought from her. She lapsed into moans, her hips arching to meet her mate’s thrusts. She’d think about Talyn later. Also at Ellora's Cave

ICY HOT By B.J. McCall

THE ACADEMY By Elizabeth Stewart

HOLDING THE CARDS Joey Hill

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Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. www.ellorascave.com

About this Title This eBook was created using ReaderWorks®Publisher 2.0, produced by OverDrive, Inc.

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